Don't Look Back
by Apprentice08
Summary: John, ever the soldier, has always kept his early years to himself. Given the nature of his relationship with Sherlock and the man's abilities, he supposed he never thought he needed to share. When Harry shows up drunk saying their step-father is out of prison all hell breaks loose and the cycle of abuse he thought he had escaped starts all over again. READ INFO INSIDE johnlock
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So, I have wanted to write a John centric fic for several years now but have never had the gumption to do it. The final episode gave me an idea and it has been ruminating in my head for weeks now.**

 **You know how that very last episode, TFP, got mixed reviews from fans. Some people really loved the backstory and the angstyness and the drama of it all while some thought it was over the top, had timeline issues and seemed to come out of nowhere? Well, this story is kind of like that. I figure this will be like a fifty-fifty, some people will hate it others might enjoy it.**

 **So, I have taken artistic liberties and done a thing. Since we get little to no background of John's youth we can only go off his personality and habits. ACD offers just as little in his original works.**

 **I lightly followed the outline of TFP in regards to the magnitude of John's past traumas but instead of a crazy sister it's a crazy parent. The resolution is quick as this is only a one shot and not a chapter fic. Stuff happens and then gets resolved all within two hours.**

 **Lightly edited but please enjoy!**

 **WARNINGS: Mentions of child abuse, non-con and pedophilia. Alcoholism, swearing and very mild JOHNLOCK at the end.**

 **Don't Look Back**

 _The rays of fading sun beam through the slats of the broken shutters like headlights, while a thick shimmer of dust invades the burning amber light and defies gravity with a gentle swirling dance._

 _The house, small but relatively clean, is dead silent save for the small sniffles of the teenage boy curled up in the center of the room. His body is thrown over a lesser more prone form of a young girl._

 _They aren't breathing heavy anymore, but both sniffle and whimper as the silence continues to sink in._

 _After much time has passed, when the amber light has turned cool and soft, the young girl finally shifts, sitting up as her brother moves away, "I-is he gone?" and her hand comes up to touch her brothers swollen eye and he gently looks away._

" _Yeah, yeah I think….I think so." his voice cracks, his throat unbearably sore and he swallows as he tries to answer his sister's quarry, pulling his head away gingerly as her feather light touch is painful._

 _Suddenly, Harry breaks down into tears, she buries her face in shaking hands and John instantly latches on to her._

" _Hey, shh, it's fine….it's okay….calm down, we have to keep our wits about us...can't be falling to pieces."_

" _I am so sorry….for not...for not being able to….I couldn't do it….I was scared."_

" _I understand, it's okay….it's...f-fine…" but his voices cracks again as tears come to his own eyes, he coughs as his throat seizes and mental flashes of only an hour ago play like a horror movie in his head._

" _Thank you, oh my god thank you so much… if you hadn't….I can't believe you d-did that for me."_

" _I'd do it again, to keep his slimy hands off you….but….do me a favor….never...ever...EVER tell anyone I did that. Not even your future therapist."_

" _I'll take it to my grave, swear to god." she says softly with a laugh, though her eyes speak volumes of trauma and horror._

 _It takes her a few minutes more to calm down, but finally she takes a deep soothing breath and looks up at him with worry, "Johnny, Johnny what are we going to do?" she asks as her knees find their way to her chest and thin arms wrap around them, the litter of bruises along her arms reminiscent of fingerprints._

 _John looks at his sister, sees the fear lingering in her eyes and after several seconds feels his resolve grow firm._

" _We are going to leave, Harry." he says with certainty, his hand coming to her shoulder._

" _L-leave, we can't leave. We're just kids, if they find us they will bring us back... besides….he will find us, he always does."_

" _No, no not this time. We aren't staying in town….we are getting out of this god forsaken….we will go to London….somewhere….anywhere is better than here." and he stands, pulling Harry up to her feet and taking her hand, "J-john….what about mum?" she asks with worry._

 _Her brother's face darkens and he swallows as he thinks about it, "She is on her own."_

" _Wait, what?" Harry asks in shock, "How could you say that, how could you, she is our mother-"_

" _I can't protect you both, Harry!" he yells suddenly and she flinches at his outburst._

 _He looks away with shame before he takes a deep calming breath and turns back to her, taking her face in his hands and looking her in the eyes, "She made this bed, she will have to lay in it. She can get out any time she wants, you and I….we have to go...now….he...he tried to get you tonight, if I hadn't come home he would have….he would have….we are going. Pack whatever you want to take, but remember we are on foot, so….try to keep it light."_

 _Harry nods and leaves his side, aiming to go to her room and pack what she can. John turns to the fireplace, trying to decide what he needs to grab. His eyes scan up and he sees the picture of his mother and father, his real father._

" _Fucking useless….go and get yourself shot….leave us to him….waste of an excuse for a father….bloody rubbish." he tosses the picture into the fireplace, hears the glass shatter but doesn't even bother to look back._

 _The taste in his mouth is rancid and he spits onto the carpet before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, "Sick, twisted….sonofabitch….sonofabitch….SONOFABITCH!" He suddenly yells and he grabs a vase and chucks it against a wall._

" _John?" she hears his sister call down the hall and he feels anger bubbling in his gut, he forces himself to suck it up, to press that anger down and he takes a deep breath._

" _Fine! I am fine! Keep packing!"_

 _He enters the hallway and stops at the door of his sisters room, she is crying softly as she packs the bare minimum._

" _We will come back if we can, Harry, if mum ever comes to her bloody senses."_

" _Don't say that, she can't help it...she needs help! It isn't her fault." Harry says sharply though John can tell she is speaking out of fear and hurt more than anger._

" _Mum WILL be fine, you won't be if you stay….I have to protect you...I have to….have to keep you safe from that monster...do you understand?" John says moving to sit next to her on the bed._

 _Harry nods and he wraps his arm around her, "We will leave, make our own way….maybe I can get a job somewhere, we can get a flat….no more yelling….no more abuse….no worries...no being scared at night….yeah? Wouldn't you like that Harry?"_

 _She gives a small smile and nods, "We could join the military...like papa did." she teases._

" _Hell no, bloody moron got himself shot…"_

" _Yeah. But, I hear they pay well..and you know...if you want to be a special soldier they send you to school…"_

" _Ah what?" he asks in confusion._

" _Mum told me about it, say like… a doctor…that's what dad was…. they send you to school….teach you how to be an army doctor."_

" _A doctor, huh? That'd be nice….never worry about you getting all busted up… I could take care of you any time."_

 _She smiles at him for a moment but then it fades, talk of any future falling short as their surroundings once again invade their few seconds of relief._

" _Shite, come on, hurry, we have to go before he gets back. Meet me out back in ten minutes, not a second longer, yeah?"_

 _She nods and continues on with her packing, John leaving the room in a hurry to grab his few things. His mind is buzzing with a half formed plan,_ _ **get packed, get out, don't look back, get to London, get to anywhere, far away, far far away….just don't look back….get away and don't look back.**_

 _He shoves some clothes violently into his bag,_ _ **"**_ _Don't look back John, never ever look back."_

 **Present Day**

John looks at Sherlock as Sherlock looks at the dead body on the ground. The blonde waits patiently for his friend to come up with his theories.

"What do you think?" Sherlock asks him softly and John glances to him and then back to the body, waiting a moment before he takes a breath, clears his throat and moves forward.

He kneels on the ground next to the body and starts his own form of deductions, "Well, she's been dead minimum tweeeelve hours?" he estimates, "Bruises around the neck indicate strangulation but…."

But?" Sherlock asks softly, the approval in his voice evident.

"The bruising on her throat is older than approximate time of death….she didn't die from strangulation….her wrist is broken…. She has defense wounds on both palms...her forearms….bit of a scrapper judging by the angle of the knife wounds…"

Sherlock moves around the body and kneels down next to John, leaning in and asking softly as he looks, "Scrapper?"

"Uh, she knew how to fight, her build aside, the knife wounds are downward, she purposefully blocked the blows….knew where to let her attacker cut her to avoid major veins, also gave her an opportunity to try and get the blade away from him."

"Excellent, John. What else?" Sherlock presses as he looks at his friend, John's head hangs a moment as he lets out a frustrated sigh, "Sherlock...I'd really like a break." he says.

Sherlock rolls his eyes and groans out in annoyance, "Come on, John. Think! I am doing this for you! You wanted to get better at deductive reasoning and observation….so….observe!"

He stands sharply and moves back to the far side of the body and John shakes his head before he looks back at the woman on the ground before him.

Eyes scan over the half naked body and he notices something odd about her back, leaning closer and placing a gloved hand on her skin, fingers feeling a strange grouping of scars.

He looks closer and he sees a name carved into the skin, surrounded by scared up slices from around the same time, "Sean." he reads under his breath before he feels his brain instantly try and jump to a conclusion, "Sean…." he says loudly as his eyes scan up to Sherlock and the man's head cocks to the side knowingly, his eyes narrowing in warning, already seeing John make that sudden jump and forcing him to stop.

"Think John, don't let your mind seek the obvious because it is easy….can we instantly assume this Sean, while obviously disturbed, has anything to do with THIS attack."

"I...I don't know." he admits with fatigue and Sherlock quickly walks over and kneels back down beside him, "Think, how old is the scar." Sherlock offers, giving him just the barest of clues.

John's eyes look back to the scar and he shifts his fingers around it to get a better view, his eyes narrowing as he gets closer, "At least four….maybe more but I can't be certain."

"Good, keep going."

"Keep going? Keep going with what? It's a scar that is old….why can't I at least keep this Sean person in the back of my mind...what makes you so certain he is unimportant?"

"Look at the scar, John. The answer is there."

John stares at Sherlock a moment before closing his eyes and thinking about it, his mind grasping at straws as he tries to find within himself the ability to peel away the bullshite like his friend is so good at doing.

"Uhm….damnit….I… I don't know, Sherlock."

"You're giving up to easily." Sherlock admonishes and John starts to get angry, "Look, we both agreed that if I was going to try and learn to do this you wouldn't push me...I am not you… I can't see or observe everything like you can… somethings I will miss no matter how hard I try to see it…. So, just bloody tell me."

"You _can_ see this, you will see it if you just try….now look at the scar and observe."

John swallows his frustration and cages his anger which is starting to bubble lightly.

"Okay, okay just look and observe, just see the obvious….see the answer….what is the bloody answer." he opens his eyes and looks down at the scars, stares for several moments before he shakes his head, "No, no I am sorry Sherlock but I don't see anything else."

Sherlock sighs and hangs his head before he glances up at his friend and rolls his lips together, "Alright, let's take this from a different angle, logically. Now, look at the scars….you have determined what it is, what it says and approximated the age…. But you aren't done...there IS more….so think about it, John. What ELSE can you look at, what other questions can you ask...what is important….I can't explain it to you better than that. Somethings are more than what they seem to be….look at the angle….look at the pattern of the strokes that made these marks."

John clenches his teeth and reluctantly leans forward, he thinks it's a waste of time and knows he won't be able to do it when suddenly something strikes him.

"Oh my god." he says and Sherlock grows slightly giddy, "Yes? What is it?"

"The scars! The scars, look at 'em!" John says looking up at his friend with excitement, "Yes, what about them?" Sherlock asks trying to keep a smile from pulling across his face.

"The angle….the angle of the scars….they are down and to the left…." John instantly releases his hold on her back and grabs her arm looking at the woman's wounds, "These are down and to the right….Sean was left handed and her attacker was right handed."

"So?" Sherlock asks.

"So, Sean can be ruled out as having anything to do with this."

"Unless?"

John nods and rubs a hand down his face, "Unless we have questions specifically about her, as a person, he is saved for information gathering, not as a suspect."

"Excellent!" Sherlock says proudly and he stands, "Would you think to assume he could have hired someone?" John asks as Sherlock helps him up.

"Not likely, I would dismiss it. There is the barest of chances this is some act of passion, the scar is so old they will have been done with each other for ages….you might find me inferring that her classes in self defense were, in fact, in response to her brief time with Sean."

"Brief?" John asks.

"Ah, yes, very good, why would I assume brief, John?" Sherlock asks looking at him.

John glances back at the woman before looking to his feet and he feels a headache coming on but presses the question through his mind anyway, "Brief because…..only….one….set of scars?"

"Yes." Sherlock says and John, who had been waiting for the man to shoot his answer down in dismay, jerked his head up at him in shock, "Wait, what? Really?"

Sherlock smirks and nods, "Yes. He was disturbed enough to write his name in her skin and cut around it in a sort of sudo frame. Those extra scars were purposeful, even if she was tied down she would have twisted about at the pain as he did it and there would have been more damage, some extra unintentional cuts. Unless she let him do it…an act of commitment. These were all the same depth, all purposefully placed marks. Needless to say she eventually decided not to continue with him as there are no other marks on her body….inevitably there would have been more. She wised up, I should think."

"Jesus, I missed all of that." John said with exhaustion.

"Yes, but you got the main bit, and remember John...it is all extrapolation. I am not always right, I have to allow myself to make certain inferences so I can continue. If I fixate on one thing I won't find any answer, wrong or right. You have to allow all imaginings….all the scenarios your mind can come up with to be heard and then remove the ones that don't play out to a viable end."

"God, and you do this every time?" John asks looking to him in shock.

"Yes. Honestly, where have you been the last seven years? Have you ever actually watched me work? You should know better than anyone how it goes."

"Not likely, I had no clue how it worked, how your mind actually sorted it all...it's…a mess up there isn't it." He teases.

Sherlock smirks, "You've seen me when I am bored, what do you think?"

"Definitely messed up." John smirks and Sherlock frowns as they continue to stare at the body a moment before the soft clearing of a throat grabs their attention and they both glance over to see Molly standing there with a clipboard, her eyes jumping between them, "All done then? I need to put Jane Doe back in the freezer."

"Of course. John, grab a leg." the two men hoist the body back onto the slab and then John exchanges pleasantries with her for a moment before he asks, "You still going to be able to take Rosie tonight? Sherlock wants to poke around some dingy pub off the Themes for some nasty bloke or another and Mrs. Hudson has a date. Not my prefered night out, but you know Sherlock."

"Sounds lovely." She nods as a smile comes to her face, "I should be available after seven, just drop her off."

"Right. Much appreciated. You have a good rest of the night. See you soon."

She nods again and wheels the body away, John looks around to see Sherlock has wandered over to his favored microscope and was looking at some slides.

He approaches the man and stands next to him for a moment with his hands behind his back as he studies his friend carefully. After a lengthy pause he opts to take a chance and speaks gently, "Yah know, she isn't mad at you anymore...she understands why you did what you did."

Sherlock doesn't look up but says in a half aware voice, "Yes, and?"

"It might be good for you to, you know, start talking to her again….maybe….invite her out….fish and chips….try to….sort it out."

Sherlock's hands still and his eyes glance up from the scope though his head remains stationary as he looks at Molly while she finishes her notes and closes the freezer door.

"No need." his eyes dart back down again and he continues to study his slide.

"Stubborn." John sighs out but he drops it for now, determined to bring it up later when there is a better opportunity to yell his friend into submission.

PAGEBREAK

They exit the cab laughing, John's head aching still though it is fading.

"So, what was I doing when you solved that case?" John was referring to the woman they had just been looking at and Sherlock tucks his hands into his coat pockets, "That case occurred during the great chicken pox war of last week." he mused.

"Ah, right. Well, you solved that case and I won the war...sounds like winning to me." and Sherlock chuckles as John smirks.

Their joviality fades though as the door to 221 B is thrown open and Mrs. Hudson steps out with a look of utter worry on her face, "John-" she starts as she points over her shoulder and hesitates.

"Mrs. Hudson? What is it?" He asks, both he and Sherlock looking at her with concern and curiosity.

"It's….up in the flat...you have a….visitor...it's….she's been having a right fit." The boy's rush forward as Sherlock asks, "Who is it? A client?"

"No, it's….for John." The two stop and look at her, the anxiety in her eyes evident and John gives a disbelieving smirk as he waits, "Mrs. Hudson, who is it?" he asks and suddenly there is a crash from upstairs and a loud yell, "Johnny!"

"Oh, no." he sighs, hanging his head, "Not tonight, please god, is she...is she drunk?" He asks, his eyes looking at his landlady with a reluctance she hates to encourage, yet, she nods and her hands drop to her sides in surrender.

"Christ. Rosie?" he asks quickly.

"Oh! Napping on my bed. I thought it best to move her when the screaming started."

John sighes and walks to the woman, giving her a hug, "I know you have a date, but could you drop her at Molly's around seven?"

"Of course." she says with a sad smile, "You are amazing." he says giving a kiss to her cheek.

John seems to steel himself and then turns towards Sherlock, "Alright." Sherlock following behind, "Who is it?" he asks.

"It's Harry." John says angrily.

"Harry? Harry, who?" and John stops, looking back at his friend with a dumbstruck look, "Harry." he says again and at the look of Sherlock's confusion he snaps out quickly, "My sister you idiot."

"Sister? She's never come here before." and John seems to have a clairvoyant moment, "Oh God-" and he leans against the wall, his face looking to the ceiling as his eyes close, "You've never met her. I forgot...you've never met...shite. Alright, Sherlock, I need you to trust me on this….let me do the talking. Take your cues from me, can you do that for me?"

"Please, John. I am more than capable of handling a drunk sibling. Or don't you remember what my sister is like." he says sarcastically.

John stares a moment and then sniffs, "Right. Keep your head down, she….she likes to throw things."

Sherlock nods and follows John up the rest of the stairs to the door, John raises a hand and slowly pushes it open to reveal a rather messed up flat and his sister laying in the middle of the floor with a bottle of half drank wine in her hand.

"Harry." John says with disappointment and he instantly crosses to her and kneels down, helping her to sit up and the highly intoxicated woman seems to come around for a moment before she looks up and sees her brother, "Johnny boy. Hey." she says with a smile and John looks at her with anger, "Oh, look at you, you're angry with me."

"Yeah, a bit." John says in a clipped tone. He yanks the girl to her feet with the aid of Sherlock and they deposit her in John's chair.

John hunkers down in front of her and pulls back an eye to see the red that rings her iris, he notices the paller of her skin and he grunts as he shakes his head, "You are absolutely lit. You stupid….you selfish...God damnit Harry...one week...I asked you to try for one week….you can't even do that."

"Oh, no Johnny, don't be mad. I had a really good reason this time, I swear." she says with a hiccup.

"You always have a really good reason." John says with venom.

"Who the fuck is that?" Harry asks as she turns her head to gaze at Sherlock who has been watching the two converse silently, "Is that….is that the hat detective?" she slurs in confusion.

"That is my friend. And the man who is about to help you get sober."

"What?" Both Sherlock and Harry ask at the same time.

"You may be able to escape any rehab center but she can't. I want you to phone Mycroft, you owe me this, get her in, the best one, which ever one can make her better and keep her that way."

Sherlock swallows and then gives a nod as he pulls his phone from his coat and sends a text to his brother.

"R-rehab?" Harry asks as she sits up.

"Yes. And this time, you are going to stay on the bloody wagon or so help me I am going to-"

"Whatcha gunna do Johnny….hit me?" John stills at this and he sees Sherlock's arm slowly drop as he also looks at the girl who is smiling cruelty up at them.

"Don't tempt me, Harry, I just might."

She stares at him a moment before she brings the bottle to her lips and takes a deep pull, John instantly reaching forward and yanks it away, the wine spilling down her chin and running in little lines across her throat.

"Asshole!" She screams as she jerks to her feet but she stumbles and John catches her, though she instantly yanks away and moves towards the door, "Gunna hit me, you won't hit me. You aren't dad. You aren't him!"

John feels the blood drain from his face and he glances at Sherlock whose staring at her with surprised yet curious eyes, "Shut up now, Harry." John chides softly.

"You got his temper but you don't have his balls!" and she gives a nasty laugh before she coughs and leans against the doorframe. Her forehead rests on her arm as she moans and then starts to cry.

John crosses to her and with little difficulty picks the thin woman up in his arms and her head rolls back and forth across his chest, "Why did he do it John, why did he have to hurt us."

"Leave it." he whispers into her hair as he gives a gentle kiss, "Just sleep now. Sherlock is going to get you sorted in the morning." his eyes glance up to Sherlock who nods once and John looks back at his sister, "And then we what? What do we do Harry."

"We do? We…"

"Yes, what do we do?" and he rubs his cheek over the top of her head, "We don't look back." she says softly.

"No we don't. We never look back." he agrees and then he walks her to the couch and lays her down.

"Why did he...why did he…" but she passes out, her questions dying on pale lips as sleep claims her.

John tosses a blanket over her and then stands, hands on his hips as he gazes down at the destroyed woman who he used to be so close to.

"Don't look back, John. Keep moving forward." he murmurs to himself and then he brings a hand to his eye to rub at a twitch.

"Why? After all these years, why did you look back…" finally he seems to remember he isn't alone and he looks at Sherlock and gives a quick smile that instantly falls, "So, Mycroft said he would-"

"Yes." Sherlock says suddenly, his eyes studying his friend intently but John swallows and turns away, "Tea?"

"Ta." Sherlock says, suddenly turning his face back to his phone and jumping into a google search. Every once and awhile his eyes jump up to look at his friend in the kitchen, making sure he is paying no attention to Sherlock's busy fingers.

Sherlock had never met anyone from John's family. He had known the man had a sister, but as she never came round he assumed they weren't close.

John never mentioned his mother or father, never had any communication with them and never had any holidays so Sherlock had also assumed they were either dead or didn't get on with their son.

He had never cared to look in to it as it seemed unimportant, after all, John had spent every major holiday and all his time with Sherlock since the day they met.

Sherlock had no desire to change that. Given that John had only met his parents in the last year, he figured it would only be a matter of time before John returned the favor if in fact it mattered to him at all.

Going by what he was seeing now, though, he thinks he probably should have asked. Or at the very least tried to deduce something upon first meeting the man.

He shoots off another text to Mycroft to inquire if the man had ever dug into John's family history. The text he gets in return is brief.

 **I am afraid there is not much to tell. A few police reports of him and his sister running away, an arrest of a man named Wayne Harvey, his birth father was killed overseas, an army doctor, so it seems, mother deceased, twelve years ago. MH**

 **Why was Harvey arrested? SH**

 **No information. The police records were destroyed in a fire. MH**

Sherlock heaves a sigh at this and mentally gives a curse at the news, _of course there was a fire, bloody stupid idiots._

He stops his search on the fire in Aldershot, were John was raised, and glances up through the bright light of his phone's screen as John talks to himself, "You were doing so good, why did you look back. We don't look back….we don't think about it...but you're drinking. You drink when you are unhappy….or when you panic. But you were so happy with that woman, her name….iiiiissss…..Stacy….right, happy with Stacy….so panic then...why did you start panicking?"

Sherlock gives a small smile of pride at his friend who is essentially using his recently honed deduction skills without even realizing it. His eyes dart back to his google search but have yet to drag up anything useful.

He pockets his phone quickly when John emerges from the kitchen with the tea tray ten minutes later and they sit in their perspective chairs.

"So-" Sherlock starts, the tea cup raising to his lips as those sharp blue eyes continue to read his friend, "You're dad sounds nice."

John holds the tea cup before his lip but has yet to drink from it, his eyes staring off as flashes of youth try to press into his mind.

"John?" Sherlock presses.

"What? Oh, yeah, real prick. He'd smack us up a bit. Whenever we misbehaved or...you know got into trouble. With Harry around it wasn't that hard." John says with a smirk and he finally takes a sip of his tea.

"She made it sound far worse than just a few smacks." Sherlock offers lightly, really hoping he can get this stubborn man to open up to him.

John's eyes once again become unfocused for a few seconds until Sherlock's words seem to register and he looks back, "Huh? Yeah, no, well she is drunk isn't she. Things always seem worse when you're drunk."

"Of course." Sherlock agrees and he leans back, the tea now resting on the arm of his chair as he continues to observe his friend, John's eyes met his and then look away. He looks back again and then once more away before he stands stiffly and rubs his hands together, "Peckish?"

"No, not really." Sherlock says, his eyes narrowing as he watches John put on his coat.

The man stops and looks at him a moment before his eyes jerk to his sister's still form, "Well, I am. And Harry will be too once she wakes up from her recurrent bad life choice. Keep an eye on her would you? Call me if she wakes up."

"Is he alive?" Sherlock asks suddenly and John looks at him in confusion.

"Who?"

"Your father." John stares off again, his mouth slowly parting as eyes regress but he pulls himself back and a dark look washes across his face as he glances to his friend, "Yeah, just do me a favor will you?"

"Alright." Sherlock says curiously.

"Just forget about it. For once in your life, delete something worth deleting….just...gone….don't look back." he murmurs the very last part to himself before he pulls his coat closer and walks to his sister to check on her, moving hair away from her face and studying it, "Just don't bloody look back, Harry." he whispers and then he makes to leave and Sherlock says nothing as he goes.

His eyes dart to the woman still sleeping on the couch before he watches the back of his friend disappear down the stairs.

PAGEBREAK

Mycroft has arrived by the time John returns with take away and the two brothers sit across from each other, looking up as he enters.

John walks into the kitchen and sets the food on the table, he then proceeds to grabs a glass and fill it with water.

Mycroft speaks first, "Ah yes, the dubious task of the older brother, to take care of the younger sibling when they make poor life choices."

Sherlock sighs and rolls his eyes as John snorts in sudo agreement. He sits down on the couch next to his sister and tries to wake her, "Hey, Harry, love, Harriot, wake up."

The girl moans but remains unmoving and John sets the water on the coffee table before he places a tense hand on her hip, "Bloody idiot." he whispers.

Eventually John looks to Mycroft and talks stiffly, "So, can you get her in? The best, if you have the means, please." he adds.

"Of course. She will be well taken care of. There are a few papers you will have to fill out, just some medical history, any past abuses or traumas…"

"Right." John says as he looks back to his sister and suddenly decides to try the water again.

Once again she is unresponsive and he sighs before standing and heads back for the food.

The silence is thick but eventually Mycroft speaks again, John's mind busy at the task of unwrapping the take away, "So, how long has your sister been subject to the unforgiving hands of the bottle?"

"Hm? Uh, years….I don't know. Awhile." is his vague yet casual answer.

"Never tried rehab before?" He asks.

John walks into the room with a styrofoam box in his hand, opening it and starting to eat rapidly, "Ha, rehab, no one does rehab anymore...not in with the cool kids." but he doesn't even seem to be talking to them, more so to himself and he crosses back to his sister and sits next to her.

He doesn't notice the look Mycroft and Sherlock share and the detective cocks his head to his brother and motions to John and Mycroft sighs, "Was there a cause or did she simply like to overindulge at the college parties?"

"Uh, no, we didn't go to college, I mean I didn't until I joined the...army...we just sort of…. were- "John trails off as he chews and swallows before shoveling more food into his mouth and he leans over to look at her, "Why did you relapse….what could have prompted you to….job is fine...low stress...happy with Stacy….you panicked, why did you panic?"

Mycroft glances to Sherlock who smirks, "Told you he is getting better." Mycroft looks to the ceiling in annoyance and then shakes his head.

"When can you take her?" John asks as he looks to Mycroft and the man seems relieved to be answering a question instead of having to ask them, "Any time. I have a car downstairs with a doctor on stand by. She will be seen to by the best and make no mistake, her recovery will be speedy."

"Good." John takes another bite and then sets the food aside and stands, "Right, Sherlock want to help me get her to the car?"

"What, now?" he asks.

"Yes. Now, please, I can carry her to the couch but getting her down the stairs without bashing her head is another matter. The sooner we get her back on the wagon the sooner she can have her life and I can have mine." Sherlock stands and walks over, helping John to get the woman to her feet and she moans as her head rolls back and forth, "Oh god, where are we going? John? Johnny? Where are we going? Do we have to move again? Has he found us?"

"Shut it, Harry. You are being shipped off to rehab, soon enough this will all be just a bad-"

Suddenly, as if she is possessed, Harry jerks forward out of their grasp and she yells, "No! I am staying with you! You have to protect me! You said you would protect me!" she drops to her knees and lets out a sob.

John instantly moves forward and kneels next to her, "Harry? Harriot! What are you talking about? Protect you from what? What is it?" he is cupping her face and she seems to fade out again but John shakes her and her hands jerk up to grip his wrists, "Don't let him get us! Not again! I can't! I can't do it! You have to protect me! We have to run!"

"God, you boozed up fool! Protect you from what!" John snaps irritably.

Harry suddenly reaches a hand around and yanks a piece of paper from her back pocket and hands it to him, "He...he made parol….he sent me a letter...he is coming….Johnny he is coming."

"The bloody hell? Who made parole-" and he rips the paper open and starts to read, Mycroft has come to stand by his brother at this point and they look upon John as the color suddenly drains from his face.

"Oh my god." he whispers.

"What is it John?" Sherlock asks softly, calmly. If John had been paying closer attention he would realize Mycroft and Sherlock have already put most of it together, the questions being for his own benefit.

"I...I have to go...we have to go. Harry, Harriot! Wake up! Get the fuck up we have to go, now!" and he grabs her arm and starts to pull her up.

"John, what is going on?" Sherlock asks moving forward to place a hand on his friends shoulder but John yanks himself away, "No! Not you, not this time. This doesn't involve you. I have to...I have to pack...we have to pack...Harry get up!"

Sherlock slowly raises his hands, "John, calm down. I understand what is going on-"

"You don't." John snaps, "Not this time. Mycroft, I need you to take her. Take her and get her out of here. I am...was….I am her primary caregiver, no one goes near here from the outside of that rehab but me….I need… my gun…. Need my gun, Harry go with Mycroft." and he drops her hand which plops to the floor, the woman sagging over and curling up to sleep as John shoots from the room, heading upstairs.

Sherlock looks at his brother, "Get her out of here Mycroft. I will bring John along shortly to fill out the paperwork."

"Do you suppose-" Mycroft starts as he ducks down to pick up the piece of paper John has dropped in his hastie exit, "He is wanting to hurt them?"

"I don't know. But I do know that John is currently in autopilot, repeating the same cycle that he grew up with, and we have to break it. I have to help him break it."

"Do be careful, he is unpredictable right now. I'd hate to have to take you to hospital after taking her to rehab."

"I noticed the signs after the first month of knowing him, but it never...I never asked. Everything about his personality implies-"

"Don't dwell, people like John don't discuss it in polite society. They much prefer letting sleeping dogs lay."

"Don't look back." Sherlock muses.

"Quite so. Very blunt but apropo for the soldier and doctor."

"His ability to forgive, his desire to protect above all else, to serve and aid those who can't help themselves. His addiction to danger, his anger….it is all so telling…"

"Yes." Mycroft says regrettably, "Unfortunatly as his friend, you are required to step in and….help him to cope. Unless you'd rather I call a specialist?"

Sherlock looks at his brother and then up the stairs, a frown firmly planted on his face, "And they call me the machine."

"Yes." Mycroft says with a smirk and Sherlock serves him a frosty glare before he goes to move into the hall and up the stairs, though he stops when he sees movement and he instantly backs up, "Get Harry behind you." he whispers.

"What?" Mycroft asks.

"Just do it." and Sherlock silently moves into the kitchen and reaches for the rolling pin he has been using to flatten his most recent experiment.

"Hurry back, John. It is time to best your demons." he says softly to himself as he gingerly picks up the wooden object and holds his breath.

PAGEBREAK

John has been packing, violent and quick, as he breathes raggedly. He isn't going to be gone forever, just long enough to get that bastard off the scent. He has to get him away from Rosie, away from Harry, Sherlock and everyone.

 _He will come for you, he promised he would come if he ever got out. That letter was from yesterday, I have been plastering myself all over the papers for the last seven years….he knows where I live...he will come...he will come because he promised he would come...you have to go…_

"He will follow me….away from Rosie...away from Harry...away….don't look back...get away and don't look back."

Another few minutes pass and he slings the bag over his shoulder before he goes to his nightstand and withdrawals his Browning. He feels his heart calm a little, takes a deep breath, "You can kill him….god you can kill him and get away with it...Sherlock will make sure you get away with it." but he isn't actually hearing himself talk he just kisses the barrel of the gun and then tucks it into his belt.

The feel of the cold metal through the back of his shirt adds more soothing waves and his stomach settles a little.

"If he finds you, just shoot him. Shoot the bastard. Be calm, go back downstairs calm and just….soldier, soldiers today."

John takes a look at his room and his eyes linger on the cribe in the corner, "For Rosie, end the cycle John."

He moves out of his room and down the hall, quickly descending the stairs, calling Sherlock's name as he jumps the last few steps and stumbles in through the doorway.

He instantly reels back and slams into frame, yanking out his gun as the bag is dropped with a thud to the floor.

In the center of the room stands a formidable man, his hair now silver, eyes a soft brown, with lines deeply seeded into his forehead and around his mouth. He still stands tall, still looks like he could tackle an elephant if he so chose despite his obvious age.

The man is pointing a gun at Sherlock, Mycroft and Harry, the woman crumpled on the floor behind the two man who stand calmly with their hands up, blood leaking from Sherlock's nose and a small cut on his cheekbone.

"Jesus! Jesus Christ!" John says, shoving up from the frame to stand straight and point his Browning at the man whose eyes are staring at him hard.

"Johnny, how good to see you again, my boy."

John says nothing, he simply stares, his eyes like a deer in the headlights, "I see we have the same idea, you know what they say, great minds and such…"

"What….what are you doing here Wayne?" John asks, his voice cracking though his hand remains steady as it always does.

"Never that bright, were you. I've come for Harry." his gravelly voice wheezes out.

John takes a step, "Over my dead body old man." he hisses out, his left hand fisting at his side.

"I could do that...but I think I will just settle for my daughter."

"She isn't yours! Neither of us were yours! Our father is dead, you're just the monster in the closet."

The man stares at him for a moment and then starts to laugh, a small chuckle at first before something more heinous and evil rattles up from his throat, a twinkle in his eye, "So, I was the boogeyman, I like that….creeping in the shadows….coming into your room at night just to chase you under the covers."

"No." John says in a clipped tone, "No more running, no chasing….I can shoot you now." he says with a small smirk tugging at his lips.

"You can. Just like I can shoot them," and his thumb glides up to the top of his gun and pulls back the trigger, "STOP!" John bellows out as he cocks his own gun in response.

"Oh, look at you. Big man now. Stop playing soldier John. I just want Harry, we have unfinished business."

"How did you get out. Life sentence. They said life sentence." he almost whines.

The man glances to Sherlock and Mycroft, he grunts and says, "I don't know, how did you get away with shooting the cabby?"

"How did you know about that?" Sherlock suddenly asks and Wayne smiles, "Wasn't that hard. I kept good tabs on my kids on the inside. Took me a bit, I ain't a detective like you….but….between what I read in the papers about the incident and then later seeing Johnny boy running around London with the likes of you… I just had a feeling, really proud of you Johnny, shooting the bastard down."

John lets out a breathy chuckle, "Let me make you proud of me again." and he inches a little closer.

"You won't shoot me."

"No? Why is that?" John asks through gritted teeth.

"Because, John, you're scared of me." and Wayne's eyes look dangerously happy.

"I'm not scared of you, old man."

"No? Then why is your hand shaking?"

John's glance to his hand and there is a subtle tremor, "Psychosomatic." he states bluntly.

"Right. The war torn soldier. Ptsd. Tell yourself what you want but we know why your hand shakes Johnny."

"Shut up! Just shut the bloody hell up!" John yells.

"Oh there it is! I was wondering when that temper would flare."

John says nothing in response, Wayne looks to the two across from him, "Surely you've noticed, the anger, so much anger. Angry all the time, even when your happy your angry. Quick to yell and thrash at anything that rubs you wrong."

"Shut. Up." John says again and his voice gives another crack, "By the way, I heard about your wife. Poor woman."

"Oh no, nonono you don't get to talk about her. Not a word, not a word or I swear to god I will shoot you in the head."

"I heard, Johnny, that you had yourself a beautiful baby, a little girl...tell me, what's her name, aye? What's the pretty girl's name?"

"Sherlock, I am going to kill him now. Hope you don't mind the mess." and John tightens his form, prepares to fire.

"No, not at all, the carpet could use some red to liven up the room" Sherlock says with a dark smirk.

Wayne glances at the blonde, the hold on his old gun tightening, "Today isn't a good day for me. How about you just let me grab Harry and I will be on my way."

"You will NEVER take her. Do you hear me? You won't touch her again!"

His eyes narrow as he looks at John and then a devilish smirk spreads up to the corner of his eye, "Well then, what about you?"

John looks at him and then glances to Sherlock before his eyes dart to Harry and back to Wayne, "Nope, can't have me either."

"Do they know?" Wayne asks as he nods his head sideways to John's companions.

"Have you told them anything? Or did you keep it to yourself, like you always do. What was that you used to say, you and Harry...don't look back? How long has it been since you thought about all that time we spent together while your mother was at work?"

John's right eye twitches, "I know you haven't forgotten, you aren't the type to repress, oh no, not you… you engage...you always engage. Like the way you enaged me over and over to spare poor Harry."

John's eye twitch turns violent, "Oh, there it is. Let it come." Wayne laughs lightly.

"No, no I don't think I will. I am done with you, you can haunt me all you want but you can't control me. Not anymore."

"Come on John, tell them." Wayne smirks.

John grits his teeth, growls out as he takes a step and finds himself only feet away from pressing the muzzle of his gun into the side of Wayne's head.

"Tell them. Tell them Johnny boy."

John's breathing heavy now, his body tensing, his anger about to consume him, "So angry, all the time. Just give me Harry and let me walk away. Or take her place, I don't care but I am not leaving here empty handed. I've dreamed of revenge much too long to walk out of here without one of you."

"Revenge?" Sherlock asks suddenly and both men glance to him, "Revenge for what? It seems to me if anything John should seek revenge on you for all the trouble you've caused him."

"And there is the answer to my question. You've told them shite. Well, let me enlighten you."

"Shut up." John says and his eyes are trained on Wayne with such force he thinks he might burn holes through the man's head.

"No, John, I think it's time the truth comes out. So let's tell them. John was clever, really clever. He wanted to protect Harry from me. Kept my focus on him, fighting, yelling, letting his anger lead him head long into battles he couldn't win so I wouldn't focus on his dear sister. He took her away several times, but we always found them, brought them back. You see, I wanted Harry, but John just couldn't turn a blind eye, so he always took the brunt of it….on his knees….on his back….on his stomach...that was pretty."

"SHUT UP!" John shrieks and he now presses the muzzle of his Browning to Wayne's temple and tears are pooling in his eye.

"Well, that clever brain of his came up with a plan. He placed cameras all over the house, making sure they were hidden, so no one would think twice. I had gotten sloppy over the years, his mother was just so….passive….her late husband, their birth father had gotten himself shot...he was an army doctor…I was her substitute and as long as she didn't have to miss Hamish Watson, she let me do just about anything."

John growls and presses the gun into his flesh, "W-why can't I shoot you." he whimpers out, the question aimed at himself.

"I already told you why, Johnny." Wayne says glancing at him before his eyes run back to Sherlock, "So, he sets up these cameras and he purposely picks a fight. Well, he knew he wouldn't win, knew what would happen after…"

"He did it anyway." Sherlock finishes.

"He did, took it like a man and then took the tape to the police. The rest is history and now, I want to finish what I started, just to spite him. So, John, are you going to give me Harry?"

"You know my answer." John says and his voice is dark, resolute. Sherlock can tell that the place he has just gone to holds demons, demons that want out.

"Then you must be planning to come with me, because you aren't going to shoot me but you know I have no qualms about shooting one or both of them."

John's breathing heavily through his nose, his mouth closed firmly and Wayne eyes him, "Well?"

He looks to Sherlock, glances to his sister still passed out on the floor and then to the gun, which is beginning to shake.

"Damn it, pull the trigger, pull the bloody trigger you moron, pull the trigger!" John suddenly yells but his finger doesn't pull and he instantly lowers the gun.

"DAMNIT!" he throws the gun which fires off into the wall.

Everyone jumps and Sherlock jerks forward but Wayne is faster and straightens again, "Ah ah, nononono, backup…" Sherlock looks at the man with venom but he raises his hands again and takes a step back, "Johnny made his choice, he is coming with me." and Wayne suddenly reaches out a hand and grabs John by the front of his shirt, yanking him close, "Right?"

"You'll keep away from Harry? Won't hurt Sherlock and Mycroft….you will leave my daughter alone?" he asks.

"Yes. I just want one of you….only one." Wayne says and John rolls his lips together as he gives a jerky nod.

"John!" Sherlock suddenly yells and both Wayne and John look over to him, "You see but you do not observe...look at him." he says softly.

John's eyes flash back and forth between Sherlock and his step-father before Sherlock urges him again, "John, Look. At. Him."

"The fuck you saying!" Wayne says as he shakes the gun in Sherlock's direction.

"He only wants one of you… he has a gun, you lowered your weapon, he has full control but he only wants to take one of you? Think John, observe!" Sherlock says more loudly.

John suddenly swallows as he looks at Wayne, "Why one? Why not both? Unless, you don't think you can handle two people. But you have a gun….so why worry...unless...unless the gun…" John stops.

"Isn't loaded." Sherlock says.

John looks at the gun and suddenly notices how old it is, a hint of rust near the rotating barrel, "You just got out of jail...where did you get the gun?" John asks suddenly.

"Don't worry about that." Wayne says and John narrows his eyes and slowly backs away, out of his step-fathers reach.

"The hell you going, boy, get back here."

John looks him up and down, truly sees him for the first time, "You're what, seventy now?"

"Seventy-five, minimum." Mycroft finally speaks up.

John lets out a relieved snort, "Too old to handle two people, especially with no bullets… what were you going to do? How were you going to take your revenge? Beat me to death? Can you even punch anything anymore?"

"Johnny, don't piss me off."

"Oh, I am going to do a lot more than piss you off. I am going to kill you." and suddenly John lunges. The gun goes flying from Wayne's hand and John tackles him to the ground, near shrieking as he waylays the man below him.

Punches fly, blood splatters his face and John keeps punching, the skin on his knuckles breaking, he would have kept going but two pairs of firm hands grab him and yank him off, Wayne curling in on himself as he coughs and whines.

"Let me go! I want to kill him! I want to rip him apart! You fucking bastard! You filthy, dirty nasty old bastard!"

"John!" Sherlock bellows as he yanks John back further and slams him against the wall, "Look at him, John! Look at him! Is he worth it! Is that wrinkled old man worth losing your freedom, losing your daughter! You've spent years living your life as you want! Don't let him come and take it away from you! Don't let him win!" and John stills at this, chest still heaving, eyes wide as he wipes at his face with the back of his hand and sniffs sharply, tears welling up and falling.

"I want to kill him! Please, just let me...let me kill him. He is the reason I am like this, he is the reason I am so….he is….everything I hate...just let me…" John cries and Sherlock wraps his arms around tightly, holding him, "I wouldn't be a very good friend if I did that, now would I?" Sherlock says and he motions for Mycroft to go.

The man nods and quickly crosses to Harry, hoisting her up into his arms, forcing him to leave his umbrella behind as he quickly tries to negotiate the stairs.

"Send your men, Mycroft. I don't want any of this getting out." Sherlock calls after him, "Not a word, I promise." Sherlock whispers to John as he rests his lips on the top of the man's head, his arms still tightly holding John in place, both to keep him from murdering someone and to offer comfort.

"You killed someone, can't I do it just once...a real good old fashioned murder, I'll do it just how you like too….make it clever...you can solve it and blame it on Anderson." John whispers as more tears fall.

Sherlock chuckles at this and turns his face so he can rest his cheek where his lips had just been, "Not this time, Watson. Perhaps we can plan a triple murder for next month."

"But I just want to kill _him._ "

"Come now, John. That wouldn't do, you have to be more clever than that. Think of the motive, it all points to you. Not even I could change that much evidence."

John sighs and his body shutters, his eyes still looking at the now unconscious man on the floor. Sherlock glances down and sees this, decides it's time for John to be done with this.

He turns the man away and guides him down the hall and to his bedroom, where he shuts the door and sits John on the edge of the bed.

John stares off into nothing and Sherlock slowly, so as not to stress the man, begins to removes his shoes, socks, pants, coat and shirt.

"Lay down, John." he orders as he pulls the bedding back and John literally collapses onto the bed, his brain shutting down due to the trauma and stress.

"Just sleep, let it all fade away. Don't look back." Sherlock says softly.

John is out seconds later and Sherlock leaves to go to the bathroom, he checks on John's Step-father, the old man still crumpled in a heap on the floor. He ducks into the bathroom, grabs up a rag and wets it. As he walks out Mycroft enters with several men in tow, "Clean it all up, I don't want evidence of anything, as for this filth, get him out of my site, bury him as far down in the system as you can. I do not ever want to even hear his name, erase him." Mycroft says with such venom Sherlock gives a small smirk and chuckle as he turns and enters into his bedroom.

He shuts the door and returns to John's side, taking the rag and cleaning the blood off his face. He cleans his own as well, not bothering to cover the cut on his cheek as the wound isn't that bad.

He is about to stand up when he hesitates, his eyes dilate and he decides this might be his only chance ever.

Slowly leaning forward his lips connect with John's lightly, his brow furrowing in a long denied indulgence as he pulls away.

"Don't look back." he whispers again and then stands, collecting the man's clothes and taking them out to one of Mycroft's various men, "Have these cleaned, pressed and returned."

"Yes, Sir."

Mycroft looks at his brother and they nod at each other, "Blood." Sherlock says by way of goodnight and he turns back towards his room. Mycroft, for once, not saying anything in response.

Sherlock shuts his bedroom door and leans against it, all the data he has just collected over the last hour near drowning him as he glances to his friend who lays comatose in the bed nearby.

He sighs, runs a hand down his face and then starts to undress, leaving on his boxers as John would not appreciate waking up next to a naked man.

Sherlock pulls the covers back, lays down and then spends the next hour staring at John, his eyes locked on to the relaxed face of the angry man next to him. He reaches out a hand several times, but stops halfway between, not wanting to disturb him nor give himself even the smallest glimmer of hope.

Sherlock has almost told him so many times, before he got on the plane being his biggest regret. He decides, in this moment, the one time in his life he has ever been able to lay next to his friend, his companion, he is going to say it, say it just once.

He thinks John needs to hear it, even if it will only reach his subconscious, he thinks he himself needs to hear it so it can be acknowledged.

He takes a breath and says softly into the darkness of the room, "I love you." his voice shakes when he says it, his heart beating hard against his ribs even though John can't hear him.

He waits for a moment, feels the words on his tongue and realizes they don't taste bitter and so he says again, even softer, "I love you, John."

Sherlock tenses when John rolls onto his side, his face just before Sherlock's chest, the man can feel hot breath licking at his skin and suddenly John mumbles out an extremely fatigued, "I love you too, Sherlock."

Sherlock sucks in a breath and he bites his lip and nods his head once even though John can't see him in the darkness and he says, "I will a-always love you, John. No one will ever hurt you, and I promise, I will keep you safe. Even if I can't...have you….I will always want you. My friend, my John Watson."

The silence stretches and Sherlock is grateful because if John had been awake this would have had a very different outcome.

"I said I loved you. No need to get mushy." the man murmurs and he rolls onto his belly and then starts to snore.

Sherlock just lays there in the dark and tries to wait for his heart to stop trying to rupture out of his chest, tries to wait for the butterflies in his stomach to disappear.

The silence stretches until John seems to wake again and he says with a gushed breath, "You can hold me you stupid idiot, just don't get fresh."

"B-but..you're not…"

"Just do it, before I change my mind." and Sherlock reaches out an arm and seconds later John scoots closer, "I need it." he murmurs. Sherlock nods, "Alright." and he holds John as he has wanted to do for years now. His mind going silent, his heart slowing and soon after, he is fast asleep.

 **A/N: Please let me know what you think. It was a really quick write, I wanted to get it all down before I forgot it. If you like it I will think about posting another chapter. R &R**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you to Kain and LookAgain for the first reviews for this story. They said they wanted a second chapter so I posted, hope others will enjoy this as well. I really dug deep for this and want you to really tell me how you view my version of unstable John. It's always Sherlock or others who are crazy or unstable, it's John's turn and I did my best to incorporate his personality into his craziness.**

 **I also tried to incorporate Gatiss's and Moffett's quick whip sense of humour. I have NEVER been good at humour, but I really hope it is true to the creators.**

 **I own nothing.**

 **WARNINGS: NIGHTMARE SCENARIOS, HINTS OF NON CON, ASSAULT, TRAUMA, DEMONIC AND WAR TIME IMAGERY (Lacking in extreme detail) SWEARING...LOTS OF SWEARING...BATTERY AND AGGRESSION.**

 **The Lie Becomes You**

 _He yanks his sister through the house, refracting light and fog obscuring his view as stumbling footsteps create cocophanies behind him._

" _Come back here! Come back! Give her to me!" a monster shrieks out behind them, the stale smell of cigarettes and booze rushing past him as this demonic creature moves closer._

 _He turns a corner, sees the cupboard and quickly places her inside, "Bolt it. Do not open it for any reason. Get in, get in, NOW BOLT IT!" and he slams the door and starts running again._

 _The twisted never ending corridors confuse and scare him just as much as the monster that still rushes after from behind._

" _Where is she! Where did you hide her! I won't ask you again!" he can feel the slimy maw of the thing nearly licking the back of his neck, all contorted and ugly, the smells intensifying and he jerks around a corner as he hears the jaws clamp shut, just barely missing him as he tries to run faster._

 _He sees the dead end up ahead, knows he has nowhere left to run, he is so scared he contemplates the option of just trying to run straight through the wall. Instead, his feet slow, and he looks down in fear as he realizes he no longer has control of them._

" _Run! Please, run! Faster!" but they continue to disobey him and he lets out a terrified groan as he accepts it's over._

 _His feet stop him just short of the wall and as he goes to turn around the clawed hand of a demon shoves into his back and he is pinned to the wall. The air rushes from his lungs, he can't get it back, he tries to struggle but that large hand presses him harder and he winces at the strain on his back._

" _Where. Is. She." comes an angry voice from just behind his right shoulder._

 _He mustn't say, he mustn't tell the monster where she is, he has to protect her, has to keep her from this all consuming evil._

" _Nothing? Are you sure? It might just be easier to let me have her." the voice says gently, it's almost alluring, soothing in a way, but he knows it's just glamour, false promises of ease to hide the aches that will follow._

 _Still he doesn't say, rolls his lips together as his arms come up and he tries to push himself away from the wall._

 _A growl and another harsh shove crushes him more and he yells at the pain, "Well then, I suppose you will just have to take her place, won't you."_

 _His world spins and the wall falls forward and suddenly he is laying on a bed, the room burning hot, and it smells so septic and unnatural he has to fight the urge to vomit._

 _He opens his eyes but claws suddenly press his face down into the bedding, start ripping at his clothes. "No!" he yells and he begins to fight in earnest._

" _Just lay down and take it, you brought this upon yourself, little brat. You tell me where she is, or you shut the hell up!"_

 _He feels tears in his eyes and looks to the wall on the far side of the room, a man is sitting there, with bright blue eyes and dark curly hair._

" _H-help! Please help me!" He calls, his voice nothing but a whine._

 _The man just sits there staring, his clever eyes narrowing as he watches, waiting for something to happen, "Help me! Help me you great stupid thing!"_

 _Finally, the man stands, his long coat swaying as he walks from his chair to the bed and looks down on him, "All lives end, all hearts are broken-" the man's deep voice says softly, and he feels his skin kiss air and knows it's nearly too late._

" _Stop spitting poetry and get him off me!" John yells in anger but to his shock the man turns and walks away, leaving him to the molestations of this demon, "No! No! Don't….don't go...I am sorry! Just, please...come back!" and as pain shoots through his lower back he lets out a scream._

 **PAGEBREAK**

John jerks awake to the fading sensations of a nightmare, his hands rushing to his face as he wipes at the sweat, "Ohmygod, ohmygod, no….just...stop….you won't do this to yourself again, stop it….just stop it. It's over."

His heart doesn't slow for several minutes, and he forces slow breaths in and out, refusing to let the panic from some exaggerated quasi true dream lead him towards a breakdown.

It isn't until the sweat has started to dry on his skin and he feels the adrenaline fading that he pushes the blanket away and makes to get up.

He jerks when his hand gives a twinge and he recalls the rather vicious attack on Wayne.

Giving a mildly satisfied smirk, he kisses the tender joints of his fingers with satisfaction, "Good on ya, boys." he murmurs only to stop and find himself stripped of his clothes, and an arm draped across his lap.

While the room is pitch black, the smell is all too telling of where he is.

 _Sherlock's room._

A shiver runs through his body as he remembers the final events of the night before. He remembers how numb and dead he felt as Sherlock lead him to his room, removed his clothes and essentially put him to bed. There is a vague memory of a cool rag on his face.

Memories of after that are the strongest, as John had woken up randomly when he felt a body next to his own, heat emanating into him, and he thought perhaps it was a dream. His mind pulling forth a longing phantom from his subconscious to create the shadow of Mary sleeping soundly nearby. He so often missed her, it was not an uncommon occurrence for his mind to play such cruel tricks.

Though, when he heard the soft deep voice of his friend he knew. He doesn't dare glance behind to see if his friend is there, he doesn't think he can handle seeing another man in his bed after a dream like that.

Though, in the darkness he hears words floating and faded in the back of his mind, words that at the time gave him comfort, though now, he has no idea how he feels about it.

" _I will a-always love you, John. No one will ever hurt you, and I promise, I will keep you safe. Even if I can't… have you...I will always wants you. My friend, My John Watson."_

Another shiver comes to him as he finally gets an answer to a question that has been plaguing him for years. Sherlock Holmes, straight or gay?

John has assumed the man was straight with a chosen desire for celibacy. His interactions with Irene Adler, Janine and Molly Hooper always giving vague indications he may lean towards the fairer sex. It didn't really matter to John, he had no issues with any of it. It was all fine to him.

But to receive such truths from the man he had become such close friends with, had become family with, when he had shouted to the world for so long that he in fact was anything but gay…

John knows Sherlock must have decided to finally say something due to situation John was now it. Trauma and stress were about to make his life a living hell, old memories, not forgotten but just ignored, were going to torture him for the next few months.

Apparently both men knew this and Sherlock had decided that now was the time to let John know that he cared, truly cared, in a way that would guarantee John a safe place to deal with the rough road ahead.

Sherlock had put himself out there, and no matter how John felt about it, he owed his friend a debt of gratitude.

So, last night, John had given Sherlock something in return, " _You can hold me you stupid idiot, just don't get fresh."_

The comment had been harsh but John's guard had been firmly in place, his only push to allow such a thing was his sincere gratitude and singular love for the socially clueless man next to him. Still, he had felt guilty at calling him names and had added in a rather soft yet indifferent voice, " _I need it."_

John knows Sherlock won't press further, he will leave it up to John to decide how far an actual relationship would go between them. He doesn't want to think about the fact that when Sherlock had held him he did feel safe, far less stressed and traumatized by the earlier events of the day. He didn't want to think about how he had slept better than he had in months.

John gently removes his friends hand and carefully swings his legs over the edge of the bed, leaning forward, he places his face in his hands, ignoring the protest of his fingers, his elbows digging viciously into his knees, "Just think about the war, think about Rosie, about Mary, a case...think about any case...just don't think about-" but he trails off and shakes his head angrily, glancing at the clock next to the bed, the red light screaming angrily that it is four a.m.

"Find your balance, you stupid...just...don't look back, it never happened." and he stands and exits the room, aiming to take a shower and get the residuales of the dream as far away from him as he can.

If he wasn't such a coward, he would face his nightmare, dissect it and try to work out what his subconscious was trying to tell him in the dream. Instead he turns the water on too hot, blasts himself in the face until he can't handle it anymore and then scrubs until his skin is raw.

He emerges twenty minutes later, a towel around his waist and red blotches covering his shoulders, stomach and either hip. He walks straight for the coffee, noticing his gun on the table, though he elects to leave it.

"Awfully early for stimulants." John jumps as soon as the sound of the 'A' graces his eardrums and is standing with the gun pulled, locked and ready to fire with in a second.

He stares at his roomate, sitting in his chair, robe on over his nightware, a favored gray shirt and dark blue pajama pants, clever eyes staring at him carefully.

Johns breathing heavy and it takes him a moment to lower his weapon, a brief survey of his surroundings is required to make sure such a thing is alright, before he clicks the safety on and then suddenly slams it down on the table.

"Might want to warn a bloke before you just….just…."

"Just what?" Sherlock asks.

"Before you just suddenly appear like the bloody mythical elf you are!" He nearly screams though he manages to catch himself, looks away and takes a deep breath, "I'm sorry, I...I just...didn't hear you get up...or notice you were up or...anything." John rubs at his eyes before he shakes his head and turns away, "Jesus." he whispers out.

He rests against the counter, tries to calm his fragile nerves so he doesn't openly abuse or take it out on Sherlock. He stares at the wall before him with worry, a knuckle coming to his mouth which he bites without realizing it.

"Yeah, this is bad. This is...Sherlock...I'm not….I'm not okay." and he brings a hand to his face, doesn't have the energy to cry but wants so badly to just get this built up tension out.

When he hears the fabric of his friends robe swish together he knows Sherlock is approaching, clenches his eyes and bites his knuckle again to keep from retracting as he instinctively wants to do.

Sherlock is standing before him, looking down with an open but strangely empty expression, "You need rest." he says, though it's not quite an order and not quite a suggestion.

 _Good idea Sherlock, remain neutral._ John thinks and he thanks his friend for having the foresight to know he really doesn't want to be told what to do.

"I know...I know I do, yeah...I am ...exhausted but…"

"It was just a dream." Sherlock says, keeping his voice soft and even. This confirms John's suspicions that the man was awake when John was driven from sleep, he wonders if Sherlock had feigned sleep to give John an easy out from the obvious spooning that had been taking place.

"You've had bad dreams before, kept me up for a whole month when you first moved in, thought there was a war going on upstairs in your room."

John does give a small chuckle and smile at that, "Kept _you_ up. Who played the violin at all hours, who blew up the oven with a tube of toothpaste?"

Sherlock allows a gentle smirk to grace his features and places his hand on John's shoulder and the man winces at the contact to his raw skin.

Sherlock seems to notices and raises his hand to gaze at the hot pink skin just inches below his palm, his sharp eyes darting up to look at John in question.

The man stares back and shakes his head subtly and Sherlock lets out a small sigh as his lips perse and eyes narrow, his hand coming to the man's arm instead, "They _are_ just dreams. Just like every other bad dream you've had."

John gives a frustrated smiled, "Yeah, but I can handle those." and he glances up to his friend, eyes wide and filled with a genuine strain, "I don't know if I can handle this."

"Are they…memories?" Sherlock asks, once again taking a very careful route to get answers without causing John any unneeded stress.

Still, even though Sherlock is obviously playing a very good game of "leading the witness" John finds he can't answer, doesn't want to confirm anything about it.

He looks away and once again shakes his head, swallows to keep the emotions from welling up in his eyes, "There will always be memories, Sherlock. I will always have them in my head, I can't...I am not the type of person to forget something because I don't like it."

There is silence and Sherlock nods his understanding, John leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest as his friends hand slides away, "it's been nearly twenty years since I had a dream like that...twenty….years...I remember it all...everything, down to the last detail…."

Suddenly a chill runs down his neck and his face turns, as if drawn to some unseen creature in the room and his eyes lock with the spot on the floor where his step-father had been crumpled and covered in blood just hours before.

What he was saying is driven from his mind as his mouth parts and he moves away from his friend to go stand just next to the spot where Wayne had been.

"Where….where….where is it?" John asks, looking up at Sherlock.

The detective moves carefully out of the kitchen to stand in the doorway between rooms and looks at the spot to which John is pointing.

"Mr. Harvey was taken to-"

"No, not Wayne, the blood!"

"What?" Sherlock asks in genuine confusion.

"The blood, from me beating that psychotic monsters face in, it's….it's gone." and his hand falls to his side, shock seemingly having set it.

"Mycroft's men cleaned the flat, removed Wayne and laundered your clothes." John looks to the coffee table to see the clothes he had been wearing the day before neatly folded and spotless.

Looking back at the pristine floor he shakes his head, "No, no it is supposed to be there. Right there, where I can see it! I want to see it!" He says and he drops to his knees, towel around his waist still holding as he looks at the edge of the desk, searches the wooden floor underneath, crawling to the coffee table he scans all around.

"John-"

"I want to see how much I hurt him!" John yells, this time his voice taking on a deadly tone of warning and Sherlock falls silent.

After a few more seconds he hangs his head in defeat and spins around to sit on his arse, nails running up to the red splotches on his skin and sinking in, digging at an itch that feels almost imagined.

"Bloody cleaning ladies. They should get an award, MI6, more effective than the maid you paid." he says sarcastically and he drags his nails across his stomach, teeth gritting.

"Itchy?" Sherlock asks.

John looks up at him and sighs, "I don't think I got it all off."

"All of what off?" Sherlock asks and he places his hands behind his back.

"I don't know...the sweat, his sweat...the soap, maybe both?"

"Whose sweat?" Sherlock chirps.

John looks up at him in confusion, "What the bloody hell you on about?"

"Nothing. How about some herbal soother?"

This time it's John's turn to look at him in curiosity, "Does Mrs. Hudson have any? I thought her dealer skipped town."

"So she says." Sherlock muses regrettably as he bounces once on the balls of his feet.

"So you said." John jokes quickly in response, a small smirk playing at his lips.

Sherlock cocks his head to the side and gives a pointed look, "No matter, I meant tea anyway, Chamomile?"

"Oh...uh...yeah, that too, of course." and they stare at each other a moment before they burst into laughter.

PAGEBREAK

Neither Sherlock nor John return to bed. John simply throws on a pair of pajama pants, sans a shirt, as his skin is still raw in places and grabs up a book, Sherlock gently playing his violin in a rather soothing and soft manner.

It's just about time for the sun to come up when John turns a page in his book and asks without looking up, "So, where did they send him?" His voice sounds casual, like he doesn't truly care, but Sherlock can hear the barest hint of stress in his voice.

"Oh, I don't know, where do most people send their demons?" Sherlock says playfully as he continues to stroke the bow across the strings gently.

John thinks on this a moment, glances to his friend to try and decipher what he means by that, "So, you don't know?"

"Does it matter?" Sherlock glances at him from over his violin, unblinking as he observes his companion with a raised brow.

"No, course not. Just...just curious is all." And his focus snaps back to the book. It isn't long before John's eyes wander back up to his friend, Sherlock's back to him and he feels something in his stomach twist with annoyance.

"Yeah know, I think, I am going to go for a walk, some brisk morning air may do good to clear my head." and he suddenly stands and grabs up the bag he had discarded last night in his shock.

"Do you want me to come?" Sherlock inquires as he stops playing and slowly lowers his instrument and bow.

"Ah….no, no I should be...should be fine...just need to...get out." he says heading towards the stairs.

He is halted by Sherlock's call, "John?" the blonde looks at him over his shoulder, right hand on the stair rail and he grabs it more tightly than he needs, "You will...call...if you need anything?" and Sherlock's eyes hold both a warning and plea for him to not do something rash.

John stares at him a moment longer before he says, "Yes. Yes, course I will." he looks away and hesitates before he glances back and says in a chipper manner, "Make a list will you? Groceries and the like...maybe I'll...stop in at the shops, yeah?"

"If you like." Sherlock concedes and John nods as he makes way up to his room, well aware of Sherlock's eyes following him.

PAGEBREAK

He walks in the brisk way he does through the chilly morning streets, an unknown quiet lingering as most of London is still in their flats or have yet to get off their night shifts.

A strange fog hangs heavy and he is careful as he crosses streets and moves past alleys, never knowing when an early morning drunk or homeless rotter will be lingering about. His hands are stuffed in his pockets, eyes stuck to the pavement as he simply walks for the sake of walking.

His fatigue, though less than one would expect, given the events of the previous day, hangs like a hazey rag over his mind.

 _You have Sherlock to thank for the decant few hours of rest you did get,_ comes a voice in the back of his head.

John chuckles bitterly and shakes his head, "Don't think about it."

 _You can't ignore it forever. This has been coming for a long time. You are more clever than anyone gives you credit, you knew long before the gay jokes, knew the moment he saved your life the very first time...things would inevitably change….the dynamic shift of the dynamic duo._

"Shut up." he hisses angrily and he kicks a rock that skirts off the bricks of the building next to him and disappears into the fog.

 _It's always been there….the tension….the…..compatibility….drawing off each other as you so do….feeding each others vices but never letting the other cross such lines that would ever separate you two for long. You need each other, even your wife could see that, and she fed your need for each other, cemented that codependent nature by encouraging each of you to seek out the other…..all the time._

"No." he snaps as he thinks of all the times Mary pushed them together, even those few times he and Sherlock had agreed to allow John time with his wife, she would give a reason for them to go off.

 _Protecting your friendship? Protecting her secrets? Never letting Sherlock get too close to her but remaining his friend. Now, here you are, another day, another trauma and who is here for you but Sherlock Holmes. When more monsters come, when demons slide into view….when he cannot go on….you will be there for him….make it permanent._

"Shut up!" he says as he spins around to see nothing and noone there. The fog seemingly closing in tighter around him and his heart skips a beat as he realizes what he just did.

"You….you idiot… you are talking to yourself….again. Just….just let it go. Don't overthink things. Just….just walk." and he starts again, breathing deep, releasing it slowly, pressing his anger down as he has learned to do over many many years.

"Don't be angry. You don't need to be angry." he whispers and a twinge in his neck makes him crane his head about and his fists clench in his jacket.

"Don't be angry, don't be angry...don't...be…" and he stops, sighes and suddenly he just accepts it, "Okay, you're angry...so what are you going to do about it?"

" _Why not go find a smack head?_ " and John looks over to see Mary leaning on the wall of a building, "Oh no, not you. You're supposed to be gone." he says with a disbelieving frown, "I made my peace with you, Mary. It's done."

" _What's the fun in that, crazy is the new sexy, and you have plenty of sexy to go around."_

John lets out an angry chuckle, his eyes scanning to the sky before closing and whispering out, "I don't believe this...I do not... believe this."

" _Believe it or not Johnny boy, I am here, I am queer and this time I am not going away."_

"Don't call me that." and his eyes narrow, that dangerous smirk he often wears when his anger is mounting crawls across his lips.

" _Queer?_ " she asks in confusion.

"Johnny Boy." he snaps.

" _Oh! So he's not denying it._ " She says with an excited smile.

"Oh, I did _not_ miss this." and he instantly starts walking, the mist rushing past his face and depositing tiny droplets on his lashes.

" _Run run as fast as you can, your subconscious is calling and says you love a man_!" Mary sings as she follows him down the street.

"I have bigger problems right now than dealing with my sexuality." he says viciously low and he turns down an alley and purposely walks towards the bad part of London.

" _Oh, he's angry again. Still pissed at daddy for not loving him...or maybe loving him a bit too much_."

"He bloody enjoyed it. Always said he wanted Harry but never really tried to get to her. He always came after me, and when he did get his hands on Harry…"

" _He let go of her way more than he should have if he wanted her so much."_ Mary seems to agree.

"He always offered me to take her place. Always baited me into agreeing to take her place."

" _You know the truth, he wanted you….he always wanted more...Harry was just his meal ticket to you. He knew, he knew you would-"_

"Knew I would take her place, try to protect her, even now, same M.O."

" _What does your future lover always say?"_

"He's not my lover….what does he say?"

" _If you eliminated the impossible, whatever remains-"_

"However improbable, must be the truth." John finishes as he hears Mary squeal happily behind him. But he isn't happy, his anger rushes through him like an avalanche as this new information hits him savagely hard. His hand has been aching since he started clenching it but now it burns as nails dig into his palm and skin breaks.

" _So, where to now, love?"_ Mary asks rushing to his side.

John gives a dark look to the woman next to him, "Now? We are going to find a smack head."

" _Yes!"_ Mary hisses with delight as she throws her arms up in the air, John gives a small smirk as he continues his walk downtown.

PAGEBREAK

It's early evening when he returns to the flat, shop bags in one arm, Rosie in the other, "Sherlock?" he calls as he glances through to the man's room.

"There love, huh, shhh….just...easy now. Let daddy put the bags down. Yes, how are you? Did you enjoy time at Aunt Molly's?" he bounces her, she smiles and gives a laugh as a small hand comes to grip at his nose, "Went to the shops! Can you put it away, Rosie needs a wash." he calls out.

"Good grab." he teases her, "Come on, time for a good scrub." and he is about to head down the hall when he hears someone clear their throat behind him. He swings around, yanking Rosie to him protectively only to find Sherlock in his chair and Greg Lestrade standing next to him.

The two have eyes on him, sharp eyes and John feels warning bells go off in the back of his head, still, he doesn't give a tell and remains rooted as he speaks, "Lestrade? What are you doing here? Have a case?"

"Yeah. Something like that." and he crosses to John and drops a few photos on the table next to the shop bags, John leans over and sees several black and white CCTV images of two men from a long distance away. One is down on the ground, the other, standing up and presumably about to kick the other.

"A man was taken to hospital today." he starts as his eyes dart down to the picture and back to John, "Colton Blakey. A recovering smack head and current employee at the local fish market."

John continues to stare at the picture, he knows it's him but he also knows the images are too far away to make a positive identification.

" _Play it subtle."_ he suddenly hears Mary's voice in the back of his head, and he chuckles, "Okay, what then? Who attacked him? Do you want us to try and fetch him for you? We your errand boys now?"

" _Too cross, pull back the anger."_ Mary chides and John gives a teasing smirk to downplay his aggression, "Kidding, he alright?"

"You're a funny man, you know, Sherlock's wrong about you...your sense of humour is quite good." Greg says in a rather annoyed tone.

John stares at him, his eyes jumping to Sherlock who has crossed the room and stands next to him with arms crossed.

Pressure builds behind his eyes and his stomach turns in anger and suddenly, as if a beast lurches forth he opens his mouth and yells, "WHAT!"

Rosie explodes into tears at the outburst and John curls in on himself instantly, "Oh, sweetie! Sweetie, daddys sorry...he's just a little...little out of sorts...here...here calm down." and he gently strokes her face and then looks back to his friends, "I don't know what you are implying but I don't have the patients or the good nature to deal with it. Now, I am going to give my daughter a wash….do yourself a favor and just….just leave me alone."

He turns and walks towards the bathroom, a female voice calling after him sarcastically, " _Oh, very subtle."_

"Shut up, Mary!" He says plain as day, only to wince at his slip as he enters the bathroom, slamming the door with his foot and cursing as he looks in the mirror and admits to himself he is nowhere near as clever as he thought.

PAGEBREAK

"What do you want me to do, Sherlock? It's obviously him, can't make a face but the height, weight...the bloody coat and pants...he matches the witnesses description to a tee...he was sloppy….like he didn't even care. Now, I know John, and I know he could have gotten away with this...but he didn't even try...it's like-"

"He wanted to be caught." Sherlock says, his eyes still locked onto the door of the bathroom.

"I know he has been dealing with a lot of issues since….since Mary...but I thought he was doing okay. He seemed to be doing okay."

"He was." Sherlock confirms, his eyes still glued to the door.

"Did something happen? Is there something going on I don't know about?"

Sherlock finally pulls his eyes away from the hall and looks at Lestrade, he calculates the risk and decides for John's sake it's worth it, "Yes."

"Well? What is it?" Greg asks, bringing his hands to his hips as he looks at Sherlock expectantly.

"I can't tell you."

"What?"

"I can't, I am sorry but I promised John I would keep it between us." is his automatic response.

"Sherlock….I know...I know you and John are friends….good friends-"

"The best." Sherlock says, a tone of warning creeping into his voice as he gives a sidelong glance to Lestrade.

The man sighs heavily and continues, "I can't...I don't know if I can protect him from this...this is battery...assault at the bare minimum….I know it's him and I have the evidence right here."

Sherlock sighs in frustration and hangs his head a moment before he grits his teeth and looks up, "The possibilities for you to choose from are endless, _Greg_ , plenty of other muggers, smack heads and gang members in the area to pin it on. Or, just chock it all up to coincidence. Whatever makes you sleep better at night. But I promise you, I will get him under control. Will you give me time to do so? Can you make this go away?" he asks grabbing up the pictures and planting them firmly in Lestrade's line of sight.

The man's eyes slowly move from Sherlock's hard stare to the pictures, then they jump to the bathroom door at the sound of a laughing Rosie and a cooing John.

He licks his lips and then brings fingers to rub at his eyes as he grits his teeth and sucks in air, "Fuck, yeah, alright. But this is it Sherlock. He runs aground again and I have to take him in for questioning. He is your responsibility, so get him under control. And for god's sake, keep an eye on him. Don't let him wander off, his affinity for beating up junkies is getting out of hand."

"In the seven years I've known him he's done this only twice, I'd hardly call that an affinity." Sherlock quips haughtily.

Greg looks at him and says with his own sarcastic wit, "Four."

"What? What'd you mean? Who else?"

"Well, he's kicked your sorry arse twice." and Greg plucks the photos from his hand and turns to leave, giving Sherlock a glare of warning as he descends the stairs.

Sherlock watches him go and as soon as the front door shuts he instantly lets out the breath he has been holding since Greg had arrived. He places his hands on the table, hanging his head for several seconds to ease the tension in his shoulders before looking up at the bathroom door.

"Bloody idiot." he whispers, though he doesn't know if he is talking about himself or about John.

 _You can't trust him right now Sherlock, you can't assume he has the same checks and balances in place as he did prior to Wayne showing up. You must assume that right now, you do not know him, you do not understand what he is going through. Do not think, for one second, that this is the same John Watson you've come to know over the years. He is angry, dangerous and unpredictable. Remember what happened that day in the morgue, the way he went off on you, beat you senseless, realize the link between his aggression and anger is pain...it is always pain. Make him focus on the pain and not the anger. Solve the puzzle. Treat him….treat him….like a case...like a possible suspect. Expect the unexpected and save John Watson… at any cost._

Sherlock instantly stands, his resolve growing firm as he sorts out just how he should solve this new problem. He approaches the door to the bathroom and knocks, his ears listening for anything of importance, his heart beating rapidly as he realizes this is going to be a very difficult conversation.

PAGEBREAK

John hears the soft knock at the door, knows it's Sherlock for Greg would know better than to bother him right now, "Yes, come in Sherlock." he calls as he pulls Rosie from the water and wraps her in a towel, she squirms and wiggles but John prevails in getting her wrapped up and toasty warm.

The door opens and Sherlock pops his head in, "John, we need to talk." Sherlock says with an air of authority that John finds he doesn't like, not one bit.

"In a minute, I am almost done."

"Now would be better."

John looks over at him and sees the man's face, his notices his anger which has been slowly refueling the last half hour cools considerably when he sees Sherlock's concerned face, though given it's Sherlock the concern is well hidden, covered up with annoyance.

"I have to finish drying off this beautiful little girl." He says as he kisses her nose playfully and she finally decides to talk, "Da da, no!" she laughs.

"Oh, finally! Been trying to get you to say it for hours now, haven't I? Stubborn, stubborn as your mother."

"You'll put her to bed then?" Sherlock asks.

"Yes, and be right down. Relax, yeah? Everything is going to be alright, Greg will let it go-" and John freezes as soon as he says it, his smile fading and he stares at his daughter's happy face.

Once again, he finds himself curling in, wanting to be close to her, wanting to just take her up and hold her for hours, cuddle his daughter and feeling the love he has for her instead of the anger and hatred that has ruled his world for so many years.

"Oh my god." he whispers and a hand comes to his face, Rosie giving a squeal at the sudden movement and he jerks to look at her, a small bead of irritation growing in the back of his mind at the sudden loud shriek, "Sherlock, Sherlock take her a moment would you? I'm...I have a headache." and Sherlock moves into the room instantly, scooping the child up from John's waiting hands and grabbing her clean clothes and diaper off the tabletop, "I will put her to bed and return shortly, do not under any circumstances leave this flat."

John nods and remains in his spot on his knees before the tub deutifully as he listens to the faint sounds of Sherlock taking care of his daughter.

 _That should be you up there, should be you not your flatmate dressing her, putting her to bed...changing her diaper. You are a terrible father, a horrible friend and a damn right disgraceful doctor. What was it you said, I shall do no harm? Followed that pretty well._

"I was an army Doctor, the Hippocratic Oath was required to pass, the gun was a necessity to survive. Only one of those was negotiable."

 _Beating a recovering junkie was not a necessity. You are harming others because you have been harmed and you won't admit to yourself what he really did to you, how badly he really hurt you. Keeping it to yourself is killing you._

"Telling someone would be worse." he whispers.

 _Tell Sherlock, he will understand, he is literally the only one who could understand. Given his penchant for bad people and situations….a messed up family...fucked up past….the story is different but the trauma is the same. You have a bond….use it...he would want you to._

"It's not his burden." John says as he feels tears creeping up his throat and into the cavity behind his eyes and he stands quickly, refusing to let the tears come, shoving the pain of it all violently aside and growing angry as he realizes the food still hasn't been put away.

 _He is taking care of your daughter, covering your ass against Lestrade...do not say a bloody word about the bloody goods on the table._

John nods to himself, takes a breath, starts putting things away, thinks he might be coming down from his rage when he suddenly hears Rosie scream bloody murder and he jerks away from the fridge and is up the stairs faster than he has ever been in his life. His gun is drawn as he kicks the door to his room open.

"Get the bloody hell away from….her." and he stops himself as Sherlock looks at him from the floor, his hand partway withdrawn from under the wardrobe to show Rosie's favorite stuffed toy, the girl giving another scream as she reaches for it and laughs.

The anxiety that escapes him makes his legs weak and he drops to his knees, gun thunking to the floor and he shakes his head, "Jesus Christ, I am loosing it. I am bloody losing it."

Sherlock slowly stands, his eyes looking from John to the gun and back. The doctor sees him and he grits his teeth and keeps his anger at bay, he can't blame the man for wanting to do the most logical thing, "Here, just take it...I am not responsible anymore...I am not...my judgment is impaired." and he clicks the safety on, and then slides it across the floor to Sherlock who takes it and puts it in the waist of his pants behind his back.

"Go down stairs, John." and Sherlock's voice bars all argument, and it should, because John knows Rosie is just as safe with Sherlock as she is with him, right now, probably more so.

John nods, doesn't say anything as he stands and uses the doorframe and than the wall to steady himself.

It takes him awhile to make it down the stairs and into the main room, he sits on the sofa, elbows on his knees, hands clasped before his mouth and he stares at that spot on the floor.

The spot where all of Wayne's useless blood should be, so he can see it, see it and remember how badly he hurt the man.

"Hope I knocked his teeth out." he says in a dry murmur and then he finally heaves a sigh and leans back, now staring at the ceiling and waiting for Sherlock to arrive, swearing over and over that no matter what happens, he will not hurt or take his anger out on Sherlock Holmes.

PAGEBREAK

John cracks his eyes when Sherlock enters the room, his movements slow and carefully planned. He does not sit next to John, a very wise decision given the current mood in the air. Instead, he pulls a chair from the kitchen, places it across from him and sits down, his hands falling to grab his knees, "Alright, let's talk." he says slowly.

John's eyes are still only cracked and he feels his insides give a nasty recoil at the very idea, but he knew this was coming, that this was the point of the conversation that Sherlock had pressed for.

"What do you want to know?" John asks with equal calm, though underneath is a storm that is building slowly.

"Start with your walk this morning and go on from there. We will get to the bit about the smack head when you feel less likely to crush my skull." Sherlock bites out sarcastically.

"Oh, so you're being snooty now. Not a good way to get someone to talk to you." John snips as he suddenly sits up, face alert and he runs a thumb under his nose and sniffs irritably.

"I was under the impression you weren't the type to need a good coddling. If I am wrong-"

"Don't." John snaps, "I said I will talk to you and I will, but if you are going to play the whole good cop bad cop routine I will walk away." he says, holding up a finger in warning as he tries to make his point.

"Very well. Talk, John, before this becomes dull and I get bored."

John grinds his teeth as he looks at the man before him, scans his body up and down. Sherlock is tense, very tense, his posture rigid, his hands gripping his knees violently hard and John realizes that while he has been having his breakdown Sherlock has been only ever trying to help.

But Sherlock is very knew to the social structure of having friends, of being open about how much you care about them, of expressing his worries and his fears. He is reverting to his own defense mechanisms and John realizes that no matter how angry he is he doesn't want that.

He takes a deep calming breath, pushes the anger down again, feels the tension leave his shoulders just a little and then says softly, "Sherlock, Sherlock I am sorry. I...I went for a walk with the soul intention of clearing my head...things went a little sideways and…"

He doesn't want to tell anyone, doesn't want to let anyone know he might very well be losing his mind but he knows that if anyone will understand it is only this one man before him.

So, he sits up, clears his throat and says reluctantly, "I….saw…." he hesitates and then finally propels himself forward, "Mary. Yeah, there it is… I saw Mary again. Just like before, after...after she died. I saw her standing there and she was mocking me...she was...feeding my anger. Just telling me to….she told me to find a Junkie, she is the one who-"

"Mary is a construct of your mind, to deal with your own inner conflict and to be able to reason with yourself in a way that allows you room to justify actions you would not take in any other given scenario. She is nothing more than a figment of your imaginings, a representation of yourself, usually negative because Mary left this world while you still held reservations about her intentions towards you. But it is you John, only you and you alone who controls her. She is a pure manifestation of things you want, and an outlet for your anger, which has gone suppressed and unchecked for years."

John stares at him, doesn't know what to say to that, because Sherlock is right and contrary to what everyone thinks of him, John has followed every word of that and realizes Sherlock is once again right. And this entire mess as always, is entirely his fault.

"Oh my god." and he puts his face in his hands, curses and kicks the leg of the coffee table violently, the often abused table shifting harshly from the blow.

"My fault, it's my fault again. I'm a bloody doctor, a good doctor, and I went out there for no other reason than to hurt someone. Because I hurt and I hate him and I want him dead." he says it all so fast he doesn't even realize what he has said until he replays it and thinks on it for a moment.

"Shite." he whispers, "I don't want to be in his shadow anymore, I don't want to think….think about what he did to me...to Harry….and I am angry….so bloody nasty angry and...I want...I want to make him hurt as badly as he hurt me. I want to make him suffer." his voice has given out by the end of his little rant, it's nothing more than a wheeze and he hates himself for sounding weak but that is how he feels.

"I feel small, weak, vulnerable and my god I hate myself for it, almost more than I hate him and I just….don't want to be this way anymore." he stands and walks over to the door, needing to move, to push the pain back and as it always does anger trickles in and suddenly he lashes out, "I don't want to be angry!" and he punches the wall and it caves beneath his already aching hand.

Plaster dust swirls through the air, chunks falling to the ground like rain and he just stands there with his fist in the wall, breathing heavy and staring at the staircase, the thing he wants to run down to escape all of this mess he has created.

He feels a presence behind him and he shakes his head in warning, "No, don't...I wouldn't." he murmurs out but after a moment of hesitation he feels slender fingers gently take his forearm and his fist is removed, his arm pulled back and down to his side, the fingers remaining firmly there. Another hand comes to his shoulder and for several seconds nothing happens, the air is tense, the mood dark and John feels the need to warn his friend to back off.

"Step back, Sherlock. I can't...I can't promise that I won't...I will take this out on you if you get too close to me." he says desperately. "I always take it out on those who are too close, Harry started drinking from it after awhile, I don't want to drive you back to-" and he stops because he really doesn't want to think about how Sherlock might respond to the abuses John can and has inflicted on others.

"I was...I was doing so well...so bloody well." he nearly cries staring at the ground, shame starting to seep in as he glances up to the hole in the wall.

"I had it under control, I had Mary and Rosie...I had you."

"You still have Rosie...and you will always have me. There is nothing to be ashamed off, people fall off the wagon all the time. I do it intentionally on occasion, can't tell you how good it can feel to fail when I know it will spice things up a bit."

John glances at him from under a brow with annoyance and Sherlock swallows, "Right, not good. All I am saying is...you are torturing yourself, accept the fact that you have fallen off and then do what must be done to get back on. Anger management is just another form of therapy. Besides, it would be boring if we were both junkies, a rageaholic might be just what we need to keep things interesting."

John feels the anger melting off his face and a warmth bloom in his belly at the notion that Sherlock somehow knew just the right thing to say. He sighs, studies his friends neutral expression, but sees within those eyes a hidden longing and his stomach fills with a queasy feeling.

" _Go on, kiss him."_ and John's head jerks over to see Mary sitting in his chair, knees pulled to her chest and ankles crossed as she smiles up at him and scrunches her nose playfully.

John swallows, "Sherlock, she's back...in my chair...Mary's back." he says nodding his head in that direction.

Sherlock looks to the chair, "Hello, Mary." he says casually and with that clever tilt to his voice.

"No, don't speak to her, don't acknowledge her. She goes away if you just pretend-"

" _Come on Johnny boy...kiss him...kiss him good...for me? He looks at you so….god, the way he looks at you...whoahoo! You never looked at me that way, do you think he tops or bottoms?"_

"Jesus." John whispers as he shakes his head and pulls away from Sherlock, just noticing the man had still been touching him gently and he rubs a hand down his face.

"What is she saying, John?" Sherlock asks, having moved to stand next to John's chair and crossing his arms over his chest.

John looks at Mary and she winks at him before she leans over near Sherlock's groin and takes a pretend bite, "Oooh! _Bet it's yummy!"_

"Oh, bloody hell, shut up, they all taste the same!" and he stops and drops his hands to his sides in a rather thunderstruck manner, biting his bottom lip and wincing.

He looks to Sherlock and the man is cocking his head to the side and furrowing his brow in such a confused yet intriguing way John no longer feels anything but utter discomfort and humiliation.

"No, nope, no, not dealing with this tonight. I am going to bed. Night all, and you-" he says shaking a finger angrily at Mary who is still smiling up at him with such a mischievous smile, "I don't want you anywhere near me, or him...go the bloody hell away!"

" _I'm your subconscious._ " She says with confusion just as Sherlock says the same thing, "She's your subconscious."

John's jaw drops at this, staring at the two in horror before he turns and leaves the room without a word, though this time when Sherlock calls to him and he turns to look he doesn't feel anger, he feels dread and Sherlock says gently, "I...just want you to know...my room is open...if you need-"

" _Cuddles!"_ Mary calls from out of sight.

"Anything. I can give Rosie her breakfast if you need." John still doesn't speak but he does nod and then continues up to his room.

PAGEBREAK

 _He stands on a precipice, his eyes scanning the farthest reaches of the foggy dark that stretches before him, the smell of cigarettes and booze coating his skin as he searches for that voice, the one he knows so well._

" _JOHN!" it echoes up faintly from below the fog, and he doesn't wait, knows the position. He picks up his gun and slings it over his shoulders, adjusts his helmet and starts to run._

 _He moves as quiet as possible, jumping over rocks and trees that have fallen in the path. At one point he comes across a side of the mountain which has cracked off and slid down to create a long smooth surface and he jumps on and slides down, his unit making great time, though he sees no one else around._

" _JOHN!" He hears again and it is closer, he makes the signal to his troops, the invisible soldiers he brought with him, to move in._

 _He drops to the ground and crawls on his bells, making it under barbed wire and avoiding a mine until finally he comes to a clearing surrounded by fire. He ignores his fear, grabs at his anger for the courage he needs and takes a running start, diving up and over the fire to tumble to the ground on the older side._

 _His unit isn't so lucky, the invisible soldiers unable to make the leap like he can. He hears them hiss and move off, and he signals them to set up a perimeter._

 _His eyes then land on something in the distance, this massive clearing filled with burning light the most dangerous place to be if snipers are aloft. Still, he sees it, a bed, massive in size and a figure on it, yelling for help. He doesn't hesitate, doesn't wait, he engages instantly._

 _He runs, gun now drawn and drops to his belly only yards away, scooting across the sandy ground and when he reaches the edge of the bed, he checks his weapon and then counts to three, his determination to win fueling his bravery._

 _He springs forth and aims his gun, only to grow wide eyed at the sight of a man, with terrified eyes, dark hair matted to his scalp and skin that is burned and cut up._

 _He is dangling from the clawed fingers of a massive demon, the thing extending it's slimy tongue to lick across the man's bare chest, it's free hand tugging at the pants that are ripped and torn._

" _Bloody hell, SHERLOCK!" He screams above the sounds of chaos around him, "John! John shoot it! Kill it John! Shoot it now!" and John raises the gun, takes his aim and puts his finger to the trigger, "Shoot him, come on you bloody fool, shoot him! Pull the trigger! PULL THE BLOODY TRIGGER JOHN!" He screams at himself and then he hears a loud bang._

This time when he jerks awake his eyes instantly land on Rosie's crib and he winces as he bites his tongue to keep quiet. Do to his desire to not wake his daughter it takes him several more minutes than normal to calm his breathing, the shaky breaths he takes through his nose are a much more difficult task to accomplish given his nose is stuffed with snot.

He feels dirty again, even though in the dream it wasn't him being molested but his friend. Still, he feels absolutly horrid and he stands, shucking his soaking wet clothes and grabbing a clean pair of boxers.

The last thing he picks up his Rosie's baby monitor and then he goes down to the shower. He realizes Baker street is dark, Sherlock apparently having gone to bed, a very strange occurrence given the events of the last few days.

Once in the bathroom he turns on the water, knowing that when Sherlock does choose to pass out it is usually pretty heavy, and steps in under the gushing torrent.

It's burning hot again, and he scrubs himself clean, feeling his already irritated skin from early that morning protesting at such brutal treatment. Once he has soaped himself he takes a long rinse, his eyes seeing brown water though he knows it's all in his head.

"Just get the sweat off you, get his sweat of you." he says softly as he thinks of the demon in his dream, all red and disfigured, slopping sweat and saliva about as if it was rain.

When he turns off the water he misses the burn but forces himself to step out and dry off. He slips into fresh boxers and then plans to head back to his room but once he is in the hall he stops, his eyes slowly raising to look at Sherlock's door.

" _You will always have me, John."_ and Sherlock's promise echoes hauntingly in his mind, his eyes closing tightly as he grits his teeth. He feels like he is caught between a need for companionship and a desire for intimacy and the fact that it is with another man makes his brain feel like it is overheating.

When he finally opens his eyes he looks down at the baby monitor and realizes he has already made up his mind, though he wants to punch something when he comes to the reality that he has wanted to be in that room the whole time. Since he went up to bed, he had wanted to come back and Sherlock to guide him down into sleep.

"I hate my life." he says softly, though he knows what he means to say is that he hates himself and his stubborn pride more than anything else.

Slowly, as if he is still in debate, he approaches Sherlock's door and places his hand on the knob, his eyes narrowing gently as he realizes what type of cycle he is starting right now on his own.

He gives another soft sigh and then resigns himself to his fate, "To hell with it." and he gently turns the handle and opens the door.

The room is dark, he says not a word, doesn't announce himself or call out for permission to enter. He simply approaches the side of the bed, places Rosie's monitor on the bedside table and sits on the edge carefully.

His mind still isn't ready to wrap around what his body wants to do, what his body is currently needing to actually get some sleep.

His mind starts to speak, starts to talk in that way that drives him crazy and he shakes his head and groans, "God you need sleep. Just do it, stop fighting it and lay the bloody hell down." he whispers softly.

The pressure in his brain from the controversy of what he actually wants out of this verse what he actually needs starts to create a chaotic buzz and he is about to stand up and walk out when he hand comes to lay gently on his spin, right in the middle of his back and he sits up straight as a rod, his mind tumbling softly into silence.

"Just lay down John, I won't touch you unless you ask me to." comes Sherlock's soft voice, it holds the barest edge of sleep and he doesn't want to think about whether or not Sherlock heard or could deduce any of what has just occured.

Slowly, over several seconds, he relaxes into the warm touch of Sherlock's hand, nods his head as he savours the blessed silence his mind has found and very stiffly moves to get under the blankets and lay down.

"Sherlock-" John starts softly, his head just inches from the pillow, his elbow barely keeping him propped up, "I know John. It is what it is, now please, just lay down and try to rest. I will be here to wake you if the dreams come back."

John nods, doesn't feel the need to say anything and finally allows his body to lay down, pulling the covers up to his chin and letting out a relieved sigh. He stares out into the dark, the silence of the house so soothingly sweet he finds his heart slow and his body releasing the last shred of tension.

Still, as he stares at the wall across from him he hears the faintest complaint come from the depths of him and he knows what he wants.

He feels Sherlock shift away, roll over onto his other side, whether for his own comfort or for John's the man doesn't know but what he does next he is sure is something he wants to do.

He very slowly rolls over, keeping his eyes on the still form of his friend and scoots up just a little bit higher. He moves closer, takes a breath and then reluctantly wraps an arm around Sherlock's side, the man accommodating him only by raising his arm enough to allow John access.

He places his face near the back of Sherlock's neck, the smell of him being so familiar he finds comfort in it despite himself and he nuzzles his face just that little bit closer.

"Alright?" he asks tentatively.

"Mmm? Fine." Sherlock says with a yawn, something of which John has never heard before and he furrows his brow at the sound of it. Something new to log away in his mind, because while Sherlock always notices things, John always remembers and he has a feeling he will want to remember the sound of a Sherlockian yawn for a long time to come.

 **A/N: Can you believe this is twenty-four pages long? Really need some love on this, because now I have the itis, I love this story, which is weird because I don't usually openly admit to liking my own work. But I am drawn in, please read and review, helpful constructive criticism is always welcome, as is feedback and ideas. Hit me with your best shot, and let me know how the character development suits you. I already started chapter 3.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thanks for reading guys, and your awesome review Kain! Not much to say before this chapter accept warnings and disclaimers. Hope you enjoy, if you like it R &R and I will see about chapter four. **

**Warnings: Mentions of abuse, pedophilia and swearing, loooooots of swearing. Trauma, angst, assault physical altercation, etc. Oh yeah….discussions of erections, pricks, cocks and homosexuality….the best thing ever!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock, I have no affiliation with Rihanna or her peeps, I make NO royalties and am using this as a form of creative expressionism and not for profit entertainment…..hopefully that will cover my arse.**

 **Chapter Three**

 **Love on the Brain**

Sherlock wakes up slowly. His mind is instantly sharp and alert, the room coming into view crystal clear. He is well aware of John, still behind him, holding onto him tightly and he lets out a small moan and shifts closer, his face pressing into Sherlock's neck.

Though his body remains relaxed, his heart starts to beat faster and blood instantly drains down to his groin.

"That's new." he murmurs softly and he snakes a hand down carefully to feel himself through his pants.

Sherlock is on his side, legs scissored apart, as he feels an arm under his neck, another wrapped lazily over his side and foreign legs entangled in his own.

 _He is aggressive even in his sleep, holding firmly, holding me in a way that makes him feel secure, in control._

While his heart seems to be racing, the common physical response given his emotional attachment to the man behind him, his mind remains calm and clear as his deductions come into focus.

He ignores the aching throb between his legs, not used to having to deal with such a thing as upon waking his mind usually hums with thoughts, and instead focuses on the problem at hand.

 _John._

He takes a slow breath as he studies the wall before him, lit up with the shine of a new day, and a new fragrance suddenly assaults his overdeveloped sense of smell.

 _John, again._ He muses as he knows the man's natural smell from several yards away but has never had such a close proximity as to feel like he is being encompassed.

 _Bacon, aftershave and baby wipes._

The smells on the surface hide most of his natural scent, but he closes his eyes and focuses solely on pulling forth the scent buried underneath, something reminiscent of the outside…

 _Earthy, natural….woody maybe...similar to oak or pine...maybe cedar...masculine….sturdy…_ _solid._

Sherlock starts to store this information but is drawn from his mind palace when his prick twitches and his eyes open, he thinks on the fact that his erection responds quickly to John's smell.

Taking a breath, Sherlock forces himself to imagine he is alone and he just about breaks away from it, the intoxicating pull of sentiment and sex, when John shifts behind him, pressing hips into his bum and Sherlock suddenly finds himself gritting his teeth when he feels John's prick harden against him.

"For God's sake, John. You make this intolerable." He whispers.

The man behind him, a heavy sleeper despite his traumatic upbringing, gives a small groan as he shifts again, "Cover? What cover? What are we doing? Is there a case?" John slurs sleepily and his hand drags across Sherlock's chest, nails scraping his skin and then John grips his hip.

"Dear God, wake up you fool." Sherlock murmurs as his prick twitches again and he shifts himself to lay more fully on his belly to try and rid himself of this sudden foreign problem.

John seems to pursue him and adjusts to lay nearly on top, a hand snaking into Sherlock's hair and the man shutters out, "John."

Sherlock grows irritated, not by the man's presence, no he craves that most days, but by the fact he is helpless in doing anything about the ache between his legs and the pressure building in his stomach.

"Focus." Sherlock snaps at himself angrily and he finally manages, after some time, to reach a quasi sustainable middle ground of half aroused but mostly focused.

 _Help John, fix John, Save John Watson._

PAGEBREAK

' _ **And you got me like oh, what you want from me? What you want from me?'**_

 _John looks around the room, the music wafting through the air in a lazy manner, softly echoing in the background, black edges cutting off his view of the other occupants, though he can hear them chattering softly just beyond._

 _He looks around, glances down at himself to see he is dressed in his normal clothes, his gun in hand and he spins in confusion as he tries to find someone else._

' _ **And I tried to buy your pretty heart, but the price is too high. Baby you got me like oh, mm-'**_

 _He walks to the edge of the light, too anxious to go explore the darkness beyond, he stops and stares with curiosity into the shadows._

" _Hello? Hello? Anyone?" He waits but the soft din of chattering people continue, the music gently emitting into the air, occasionally a slightly louder laugh can be heard or the tinkling of dishware but otherwise he seems to be beyond their view._

' _ **You love when I fall apart, fall apart. So you can put me together and throw me against the wall.'**_

" _Would someone please answer me? That would be...lovely….yeah...hello!" He calls waving a hand at the dark and just when he is about to start yelling he hears someone call his name._

" _John." He swings around quick to find Sherlock standing, poised as ever, sans his Belstaff, his bespoken suit clean and pressed, hands held firmly behind his back._

' _ **Baby, you got me like ah, woo, ah, don't you stop loving me, loving me, don't quit loving me, loving me, Just start loving me, loving me, babe.'**_

" _You're blowing our cover, John." He says darkly, a rather annoyed look plastered on his face._

 _John cocks his head but doesn't question the man as he crosses the space swiftly, more than ready for answers._

" _Sherlock...Sherlock they're people over there. I can hear them but they won't say a thing." His tone is relaxed, casual, and as he comes to stand before the detective he looks at him in confusion, "Sherlock, hey, there are people-"_

" _People? Of course there are people, it's a party and you are blowing our cover." And suddenly the darkness is gone and John is being swung around a dance floor, the gun pressed between their two hands._

 _Familiar and unfamiliar faces come in and out of sight around him before he looks to his partner only to remember he is dancing with Sherlock._

" _What the hell are you doing!" He asks angrily, "People will talk!" irritability and discomfort sneaking into his voice._

" _Of course they will, that's what people do, it's the point." Sherlock says assuredly._

" _What is? Cover? What cover? What are we doing? Is there a case?"_

" _There is always a case John, and right now we have them right where we want them." Sherlock says giving him a small dip before spinning off with him again._

' _ **Oh, and, babe, I'm fist-fighting with fire, just to get close to you. Can we burn something, babe? And I'll run for miles just to get a taste! Must be love on the brain!'**_

" _Sherlock, I don't understand, what is the case and why does it require our dancing?" Sherlock pulls him closer, their groins meeting and John jerks away but Sherlock pulls him back, "Don't run from me, we have to appear as if we are together. Wayne will see through our guise if you can't relax."_

' _ **That's got me feeling this way, feeling this way, it beats me black and blue but it fucks me so good and I can't get enough. Must be love on the brain, yeah!'**_

 _John feels his insides grow cold as he speaks, "What, Wayne? He's here?"_

 _Sherlock's face, alight with the excitement of the game, nods his head in the direction immediately behind John and he looks to see Wayne dancing around the floor with a small girl in his arms._

 _John has no words he can speak at the utter horror that fills his body, for he knows who the little girl is and the younger much more vital version of his Step-father is looking at a laughing Rosie with such euphoric eyes._

" _No, no!" John says as he tries to yank away from Sherlock, the man continuing to hold on easily, despite Johns aggressive tugs towards the pair._

" _John!" Sherlock hisses, "He is just baiting you, don't fall for it. He won't hurt Rosie-"_

" _He's a pedophile Sherlock, a disgusting degenerate who is currently holding my daughter, please, let me go, I can't let him touch her! Not her, not my Rosie!" and tears flood his eyes at the thought, anger burning in him brighter than anything he has ever felt._

" _He is using her to get to you, if he succeeds he will try to take you from me." Sherlock says softly, he pulls John close again and this time the man does not resist as the comment that just passed Sherlocks lips gets his full attention._

' _ **And it keeps cursing my name, cursing my name. No matter what I do I'm no good without you and I can't get enough, must be love on the brain.'**_

 _John tightens his hold on Sherlock, the lusty look in Wayne's eyes making John want to castrate the man with a butter knife._

 _He turns back to his partner and brings a hand to the back of his head, "Don't, don't let him have her Sherlock. Don't let him touch a single hair on her head, sweet Jesus, I am trusting you-" and his voice cracks and his throat feels sore, he doesn't want to be at the party anymore, every spin is terrifying, every dip makes him nauseous and his urge to grab up his daughter and spirit her away is nearly overpowering, the instinctive draw of the parent who knows their child is in danger._

 _He hears a throaty chuckle from his companion and he looks up at him with shock, "No need to worry, John. As long as we are together, as long as we work together she will always be safe from the Wayne Harvey's of the world, and so will you."_

 _John lets out a blast of relief, a smile coming to his face, "Thank god for you, th-thank god."_

' _ **Then you keep loving me, just keep loving me, yeah. Just love me. All you need to do is love me yeah, got me like ah-ah-ah-ow.'**_

 _John keeps his eyes locked on Wayne, the man still spinning and dancing with his daughter but doing little else until finally their eyes meet._

 _The man smiles cruelly, taking up Rosie's little hand and waving it at him, he mouths out a 'Hi, daddy.' before he seems to laugh viciously and spin away._

" _Sherlock, Sherlock he is taking her_ _ **!**_ _We have to go, have to save her, get her away-_ _ **"**_ _and he pulls away again but Sherlock yanks him close, "Leave it, he is trying to trick you, trying to lure you out like he always does. You'd think as a self-recognized child molester he would be aware of his latent homosexual desires but apparently he needed to hide it behind the guise of wanting the fairer sex...explains a lot about you." Sherlock quips._

 _John looks at him with anger, his jaw clenching indignantly, "What does?"_

' _ **I'm tired of being played like a violin, what do I gotta do to get in your motherfuckin' heart?'**_

" _There see, Rosie is just fine. Not a hair on her head out of place, told you it was a trap. This case gets better and better." and John looks to see Rosie happily sitting on the lap of Molly Hooper who is bouncing her and making funny noises, the woman looking up and waving at them with excitement._

" _He didn't, he didn't touch her?" John asks in confusion._

" _No, haven't you been through this before with Mary? He never wanted Harry, or Rosie or anyone...he just wanted you, his special boy, his Johnny boy. I bet he never told you."_

" _Told me what?" John asks with a sick feeling in his belly as he looks up to his friend, not wanting to hear what Sherlock has to say._

" _How much he loved you."_

 _John finally yanks away from the man and puts his hands over his ears to block out the echoing of that comment but the music stays, suddenly blasting louder as he looks around at the people still dancing, the music chanting like a tribal tune in his head,_ _ **'Baby like ah, woo, ah. Don't you stop loving me, loving me, don't quit loving me, loving me, just start loving me, loving me, babe.'**_

 _He rushes through the crowd, trying to reach his daughter but as he crashes into people and gets shoved around hd trips and his body twists awkwardly._

 _Suddenly everyone disappears and John sits up to see the dark edges have returns, the space empty save for himself and Sherlock._

 _His eyes grow wide as he looks at the man standing three yards away with his hands in the pockets of his trousers, cold blue eyes piercing him as the light accents the top of his head, shoulders and cheekbones._

 _They stare at each other for sometime, neither saying anything, John breathing heavily from his sudden bout of panic._

' _ **Oh, and, babe, I'm fist-fighting with fire, just to get close to you, can we burn something babe? And I'll run for miles, just to get a taste, must be love on the brain!"**_

" _I could protect you forever, you know I have the means to do so." Sherlock finally says and he slowly starts walking towards him, "You'd like that wouldn't you? Feeling loved and secure for the first time in your life."_

 _John shakes his head, "I'd do anything, tell myself anything, just to keep him the_ _ **hell**_ _away from me. To get him out of my head, your a blanket, a security blanket, nothing more, Sherlock." he says thinking of Wayne with disgust and about his feelings for Sherlock with fear._

" _Watson-" Sherlock says softly and he comes to stand before John's fallen form; his eyes looking down with a hard knowing glare, "Stop lying and for once in your miserable life, listen to yourself. Stop inflicting your denial on the rest of the world and allow yourself to be happy."_

 _John continues to maintain eye contact, he feels the wash of anger across his face, his jaw clenching again and he shakes his head, "I am happy."_

" _Lier." Sherlock says in that deep soothing voice of his, John feeling a shiver erupt over his skin._

 _He grows even more angry and then stands quickly, stepping into Sherlock's personal space and bringing his face within inches of this infuriorating man, " I don't know why I am doing this to myself, why I am torturing myself with this...with Wayne, with you….but...I WILL NOT let you talk me into something I don't want just because I am lonely."_

 _Suddenly the music swells around them and John continues to stare into those sharp blue eyes, refusing to back down from his own stubborn certainty that his feelings for Sherlock are platonic and nothing more._

' _ **Must be love on the brain! That's got me feeling this way, feeling this way, it beats me black and blue but it fucks me so good and I can't get enough-"**_

" _I_ _ **can**_ _protect you, John, I can help you," and Sherlock leans closer, "all you have to do is trust me" and the tip of his nose grazes John's cheek and lips come to his ear, "All you have to do-" John's eyes flutter closed, his head shaking in the negative as his hands jump up to fist the man's suit angrily. He knows he is leaning in to the gentle caresses, feels Sherlock's lips run over his cheeks and his jaw before skirting up to his eyes, pressing kisses onto each._

' _ **Must be love on the brain! And it keeps cursing my name, cursing my name. Not matter what I do I'm no good without you and I can't get enough-'**_

 _John shutters, feels his heart pounding erratically in his chest and he whispers out an angry curse, "Trust me." Sherlock whispers and he pulls back just enough to softly bring their lips together._

' _ **Must be love on the brain!"**_

John wakes with a small jerk, fear of a different kind filling his stomach and he sits up quickly.

"Was that...did I….did we….oh hell." He shutters out, his head throbbing and his eyes swimming through the room in a dizzy mess.

"Did we what?" And the doctor looks over in shock to see Sherlock pressing up from him side, his voice sounding groggy as he slowly leans over sideways and stretches.

John tries to shake his head clean before he looks at Sherlock again and sees him more clearly. His body pulled tight as skin stretches over lean muscles and the heat in his cheeks makes him look away.

The man then sits there, knees up, forearms perches on top and hands dangling as he looks at John with a confused and curious face.

John can think of nothing to say, his mind continuing to go back and replay that same moment over and over only to find he has no feelings on it one way or the other. The kiss, the way he had felt in the dream. He is numb now, confused, no anger or aggression but also no arousal that he notices.

He looks at the bed, seeing the shared blanket, the shared space, knowing he held the man next to him in the night and suddenly he feels a very faint pull in his lower abdomen.

His eyes scan back to Sherlock, the man still staring as he cocks an eyebrow, "John-"

Suddenly static hisses to life on the baby monitor and Rosie can be heard calling to him, "Da Da Da Da-"

"Rosie! Yes, Rosie!" And John jerks out of bed with a gasp of relief.

"Have to take care of little Rosie. Sweet, beautiful wonderful perfectly timed Rosie. That's brilliant." He says as he takes up the monitor and reaches for the door.

He pulls it open only to stop and look at Sherlock who is still watching him carefully, "Gotta take this, mate. Make some coffee, yeah?" Sherlock gives a nod but suddenly his mouth parts slightly, his eyes just giving the most subtle glance down and John follows his look only to jerk and cover himself.

His hard prick has been peeking out his boxers and he drops the baby monitor in his haste to put it away.

Sherlock makes a move to get it and John holds up a finger, "Ah! No, stay...right there, Sherlock. I can...I will just…" and he reaches down, his fingers splaying out as their eyes remain in a deadlock.

Neither blink, John both covering his manhood and awkwardly reaching for the little white box.

"Just a little more….got it!" John stands and he quickly vacates the room and then slams the door. He leans against it a moment, glancing down at his erection and then up at the ceiling. He grits his teeth, clenches his eyes closed and brings the baby monitor to his forehead.

He calms his breathing and then hears laugh in the back of his mind, his step-father's voice rolling through him, _"Never were that bright._ "

"Oh, fuck off you nasty old pedophile." And he presses up from the door, suddenly forgetting about the fact his best friend had just possibly given him a rod, however unintentional it was.

PAGEBREAK

They eat breakfast in silence, well, John eats, Sherlock sips his coffee, feeds Rosie in a rather playful manner and occasionally snatches a small piece of bacon.

John's plate is empty in front of him, his coffee half full and the paper opened to the local news section as his eyes scan.

It is the closest thing to a normal morning they have had in months. Given the fact that Moriarty had led to Magnusson and than Magnussen led to Mary's double life and her subsequent passing which led to Culverton Smith and then to Sherlock's evil and mentally disturbed sister, Eurus.

They had only had three months of partial freedom from strain before the Wayne and Harry fiasco.

Meanwhile everything in between was a whirlwind of cases, drug overdoses, rehabilitation, therapy sessions, near murders, mental breakdowns and a lot of anger, pain and suffering.

It has been two hours since they woke up. Sherlock made coffee and took over watching Rosie while John prepared breakfast and retrieved the paper.

They sat down about thirty minutes ago, ate in relative quiet and seemed happy to be doing so, the silence so relaxing that John is in heaven. Neither had mentioned the awkward wake up and Sherlock seemed just as ready as John to let it go.

 _Normal, I want to be normal for a change, just for a day, dear god can we please be normal for just one single-_

"John?" Sherlock asks as he brings a spoon of mashed bananas up to Rosie's mouth.

 _And there it goes..._

"Yes?" He asks as he gives a shake to straighten his paper and then turns the page.

"I was just wondering." the man says curiously as he dips the spoon back into the mash.

John feels his irritation grow, "Don't get mad," he whispers softly as he goes on to ask "Yes, what is it, Sherlock?"

"Do you normally wake up with an erection or is our earlier encounter unusual?"

John closes his eyes, grits his teeth and lips out silently to the heavens, "I am going to kill him, Mary, I swear to God." before he readjusts his paper and says, "Drop it, Sherlock." his voice flat and uninterested while his heart starts to race, heat floods his face and the back of his neck and he clears his throat.

"Seriously? You don't want to talk about that? Odd." Sherlock says, his voice rising up in surprise even though it retains a casual air and he feeds Rosie another spoon.

John drops his paper and glares at the man, "My daughter is in the room, at the table, Sherlock! She is right there!" And he jabs a thumb in her direction and finds he is fuming mad at the fact the man seemingly knew to bring up the very thing John had been glad they were avoiding.

"I wouldn't worry, studies have shown it's highly unlikely children remember anything before the age of six anyway, why don't you want to talk about it?"

" _Why_ do you _want_ to talk about it!" he yells and Rosie slaps the table happily as she looks at her father's agitated face.

Sherlock stops what he is doing and looks at John in confusion, "Isn't that what friends do? Talk about things that they find curious?"

John looks at him, Sherlock's usual demeanor and vocal expressions dominate, no hint of a trick, and he suddenly becomes very aware that Sherlock might not be teasing him.

"Don't you?" John suddenly asks in shock, "It's normal, by the way, in case you were wondering." he adds.

"What?" Sherlock questions quickly back.

John can't believe how dense the man is being this morning and he slams his paper on the table and leans closer, "Waking up with...with…"

"With what, an erection? Nooo." He says with a tone of casual ease, "I tend to wake up using my other head, but I suppose that's the difference between man and...beast?" and he smirks rather happily at the thought.

And John leans back in his chair, taking a measured look at his friend before crossing his arms, "Alright, Sherlock, alright, fine... I'll play your little game, what about this morning?"

The man looks at him and his brow drops, "What about it?" He asks.

"You didn't wake up with a...with a...a thing?" John says tactfully as he chews on his bottom lip in discomfort. His hands fisting dangerously tight on the table.

 _God, why does he want to talk about it, why can't he ever let anything go? He knows I don't want to, he must be toying with me, fucking prick..._

"A thing?" Sherlock seems confused and John rolls his head in agony, "Oh my god, Sherlock! With a thing...the thing we are bloody talking about!"

"An erection?"

"Why do you have to _say_ it!" John laughs in stressed disbelief at the man's gule.

"Why can't you? You are a doctor after all, I would think that's rather par for the course. Maybe you're not so good after all."

"Oh my God!" And John stands in utter frustration before he spins back and yells loudly, "Erection! Erection! Erection! Erection! My name is John Watson and this morning I woke up with a _massive_ bulging erection!"

He stops dead as he sees Sherlock about to burst, his hand coming to his mouth, spoon flinging banana mush onto the table before he loses it completely and John asks him, "What? What is it? Sherlock?" And the man points, John turns only to find Mrs. Hudson standing in the doorway of the kitchen holding a tray of biscuits and tea and a look of utter horror on her face.

"Oh my god." John sags down and looks at the women with disheartened eyes.

She walks by him, sets the tray on the table and then crosses back, patting him on the shoulder, "Really, John. You know better than that, he set you up from a mile away." And then she is gone.

John looks to Sherlock and the man has tears in his eyes, a high pitched laugh popping out of him as he tries to calm down.

John puts his fists on the table as he looks at the man and then hangs his head, a smirk hidden from Sherlock's view as he realizes what Sherlock just did.

 _He always finds ways to surprise you John, maybe someday, you could really have a go at surprising him?_

"Yeah, that'd be nice." he murmurs as he glances at his friend who is still trying to stop laughing and finally, despite his frustration, he feels a small laugh trickle from his throat and he runs a tongue over the inside of his cheek as he embraces that familiar surge of affection for the awful awful man as it radiates in his chest.

"You're an utter cock." he says as he looks at his friend and stands.

"True." Sherlock says, finally coming down and the silence that flows is thick and they glance at each other and John shakes his head, "Don't do it." John warns.

"No, of course. I shouldn't." Sherlock nods in agreement as his fingers drum on the table.

"Yeah, you really shouldn't." John warns again but he can see Sherlock is struggling against himself to keep quiet.

And Sherlock tilts his head playfully, "Still-"

"Stop." John bites in frustration.

Sherlock suddenly leans across the table desperately, "But it was soooooo obvious! Just- do you ever hang things from it?"

"What?" John snaps in shock.

"Rather like a flagpole, you could display the Queen's coat of arms." and Sherlock loses it again and this time, no matter how much he doesn't want to, John starts laughing too, looking to the ceiling in disbelief.

PAGEBREAK

The day progresses slowly, the flat quiet, not a single client coming to ask for assistance.

The men spend the day entertaining and caring for Rosie, Sherlock playing his violin for her and John updating his blog and reading his book. He savours this time with his daughter, the anger settling down into its old place near the bottom of his stomach, sleeping and remaining blessedly silent.

He smiles often as he watches Sherlock interact with his daughter, who is more than loving towards the socially inept man and he wonders what their relationship will be in the future, his daughter eventually reaching the ages of pre-teen, teenager and than young adult and beyond.

John's thoughts are suddenly answered when Rosie points to him and says, "Da!" John nods, "Good, very good." and he smiles at Sherlock happily, the man returning his satisfaction with a smirk as he sits on the couch and bounces Rosie on his knee.

Her little digits turn and point to Sherlock and she says softly, "Ma!"

John stills as his heart gives a sharp lurch, his smile fading and he glances to Sherlock who also has lost his smile, the man looking down guiltily and then glancing to John to see what his reaction is.

He waits a moment, a thought forming in his head before he hesitantly stands from his chair and crosses to them on the couch, sitting down he takes up Rosie's hand and brings it to his chest, "Rosie, hey, Rosie girl, look at me." her eyes look to him and she says, "Da!"

"Yes. Da, now look at him." and Sherlock looks away awkwardly, his eyes scanning the floor.

"Papa." John says carefully and Sherlock's face jerks back in shock, "Papa, can you say papa?"

Rosie looks up at Sherlock and he gives a faint smile, "Papa." John says again and Rosie gives a very soft, "Pa….pa….pa…"

"Yes, brilliant. Dada-" and he brings her hand to his chest, "Dada."

He then places her tiny hand on Sherlock's arm, "Papa." he says softly.

He looks up to Sherlock who is staring at him with unusually open eyes, shining brightly with such gratitudes to be granted the permission of a parental title that John is momentarily stunned.

Their eyes remain locked for several seconds and John feels something flutter in his chest, his eyes glancing to Sherlock's lips before jerking back up to his bright eyes, "John-" Sherlock says softly and John shakes his head gently, "Damn you-" he whispers to his friend with a soft somewhat angry frown as he feels his body lean forward.

"Sherlock! John! Yewhoo!" Comes Mrs. Hudson's call from the stairs and the two men jerk apart, John snatching up Rosie and standing to cross the room.

Pressing her to his chest as he kisses the top of her head, glancing over her to his friend who is also standing, hands fisting tightly at his sides as lustful blue eyes stare at him from under his curly hair.

John feels his mouth part slightly at such a stormy look but when Mrs. Hudson enters he turns away.

She glances between them happily, stopping suddenly as she looks at them both with worry, "Oh, you two have a domestic?" she asks.

"No, course not. Why do you think-" but John is cut off by Greg and Donovan entering the room. John instantly sees the look on Donovan's face, stunned beyond belief to notice the red puffy eyes and a near desperate look about her face.

"We need your help." Greg says quickly and John and Sherlock look at each other and give a nod, both saying silently that it is time to focus and anything else doesn't matter.

PAGEBREAK

Sherlock sits in his chair, John across from him and Sally and Greg stand there awkwardly, the silence has stretched on for several minutes. Mrs. Hudson has taken Rosie down to her flat, leaving the boy's their much needed focus.

"Is someone going to say something?" John asks as he looks between the two and Greg nudges Donovan, the woman giving him a glare as she crosses her arms protectively around herself before she steps forward and sits in the chair.

This seems to surprise even Sherlock who cocks a brow as his eyes glance to John and then back to the woman, who until recently, had harassed Sherlock quite often.

"I….I need your help." she says begrudgingly.

Sherlock speaks, "Obviously. You wouldn't set foot in this flat otherwise. What is it? Can't find a boyfriend that will stick around?" he snips sharply.

Sally instantly stands, "I told you it's a waste of time, let's get the hell out of here-"

"Sit down Donovan." Sherlock barks and she looks at him defiantly, "Sorry if your pride is more important than the fact you've lost your… sister… now that is interesting. You're what? Late thirties? Yet you have a kid sister, your parents must be very happily married if they are still producing offspring."

"Sherlock-" John warns and the man looks at him and sighs, "Yes, of course, I digress, now sit down and tell me what happened,"

The woman sits with a plop into the chair and stairs at him with a rather begrudging respect, still she has been privy to his abilities for years so instead of asking how he knew she simply starts telling her story.

"She is my half sister...the best anyone could ask for. It doesn't matter she is from a different da, I love her...I will do anything to protect her. I'd give my life for her."

"Yet, you've lost her...how did it happen?" Sally fists her hands and swallows as she looks down, "My mum….died last year, breast cancer. Macey's da is...not….he isn't a fit parent. I've been in a custody battle since mum died. Make no mistake, Mr. Holmes, I will keep her away from him. Even if I have to take her-" Greg puts his hand on her shoulder, "Don't say anything in front of me Sally, you know I would have to report it."

"Right...yes...stupid. Greg has been helping me with my case. Gathering evidence, trying to...help me prove Macey's father is...a monster."

"A monster? How do you mean?" John asks and Sherlock's eyes jump to him quickly.

Greg inhales deeply as he runs a hand over the top of his head, "Well, we haven't got hard evidence to link him to anything, but Sally has found-"

"Bruises. And...I know him. My da died when I was eleven. A few years later mum met Graham and...I know first hand what he is capable of." Sally pulls up the sleeve of her shirt and exposes several scars that run from her wrist up her forearm and disappear under the fabric.

"Jesus." John whispers, his eyes wide and locked onto the scars and his jaw clenches as he looks at the woman with a new pair of eyes.

"Have you shown this to child services, to anyone who could affect the outcome of your custody battle?" Sherlock asks.

Sally nods, "It's all documented, I've given testimony and my attorneys think the case will be over soon. It's a shoe in." She says though her voice is hardly thrilled.

"We think that's why Graham nabbed her." Greg says finally, "He knew he wouldn't have a chance once Donovan provided the evidence against him. Took little Macey at the park."

"I got...sloppy." Donovan says as she licks her lips and she clearly tries to fight the tears in her eyes, "Stupid, so stupid...a fool...I was so happy...to know she was finally going to be safe...that I wouldn't be alone anymore...and I just...stupid!" and she lets out a sob and Greg puts his hand on her shoulder.

Sally suddenly looks up, her face smeared with bereavement and pain, "I don't care if you hate me Sherlock, you can hold this over my head the rest of my life, but don't turn me away because if you do you will be turning Macey away and she has done nothing to deserve punishment for my actions."

Sherlock stares at her a moment, looks to John who is still looking dumbstruck at the woman before him.

He sucks in a breath and suddenly stands, buttoning his suit jack and looking at Donovan with almost kind eyes, "I will help you, under one condition." he says holding up a finger.

She looks up at him and says quickly, "Anything, anything you want."

He holds out his hand to her and says, "When I find her, you make sure Graham gets a very lengthy stay in Pentonville for his actions against Macey...and for the crimes he has committed against you."

To everyone's surprise the barest trace of a smile crosses Donovan's face and she tentatively takes his hand and stands, "No worries, he'll be black and blue by the time I am done with him." she says and then digs in her pocket, pulling out a picture.

She hands it to Sherlock and he see it's of Sally and Macey, both smiling happily at the camera. Macey is nearly a spitting image of Sally, thou her skin is a shade darker than Donovan's and her jaw is less square.

"We look more like our mum than either of our da's, look for me in a crowd and you will find her." she says softly and Sherlock nods.

"Give us a moment, Lestrade, we will join you shortly at the park, which one?" Sherlock asks.

"Regents." He says and then he puts a hand on Sally's shoulder, the woman still looking at Sherlock with a face of disbelief and he nods at her, she nods back and then Greg guides her to the stairs.

The silence has reverted to that thick uncomfortable thing, Sherlock standing there stiffly as he stares at the picture in his hand.

Seeing a Donovan he knows nothing about, a true smile, happy eyes and a loving hand on her sister's shoulder.

John's eyes have settled on the floor, also starring as his brain cranks furiously through his entire history of knowing Donovan. Never stopping to consider why the woman was so harsh and seemingly judgmental. It is easy, as a woman, he supposes, to be leary of any person who might come off as different from the norm. Her experiences with Graham fueling her dislike of a strange man like Sherlock.

"Displacement." John says softly.

"It's always the angry ones." Sherlock muses soon after.

"What?" and John looks up, notices Sherlock is still staring at the picture.

"Nothing." the man says shaking his head.

John stands and goes to grab his coat, his mind obviously elsewhere as Sherlock watches him pace the room. When he is suited up he stops and looks at Sherlock, "Ready? Sherlock?"

The man's eyes finally met John's, "Hmm?" he asks.

"I said, are you ready? We have to go, the trail could get cold if we wait-"

"The trail won't be hard to find. This was a slap dash plan at best. Graham took her out of desperation, must have got word that Sally was going to talk. Knew he had no chance once she gave evidence against him. Grabbed the girl more so in an attempt to keep control and to hurt Donovan. He isn't trying to be clever...he just wants one last dig at the woman who took away his daughter."

And Sherlock sees Wayne Harvey standing in the room with them, glaring at Sherlock and his brow furrows as the sudden similarity strikes him.

 _You had no intention of taking John… or Harry….you had no plan...you just wanted to stir up trouble….wanted to stir up John...you knew he would self-destruct...knew your very presence would unbalance him...cause him to lash out...to get into trouble...to lose everything just like you did._

The latent image of Harvey staring at him with a smirk makes Sherlock look away and he sees

John's eyes are angry as he stares at him, "Yeah, right, fine... okay, now let's go! There is a little girl out there scared and caught up in a mess she knows nothing about. The sooner we go, the sooner we can get her back."

"No." Sherlock says, finally deciding to look at him.

"What? No? What do you mean no?" John snaps.

"Not we, John. Just me. You will stay here." and Sherlock moves to grab his coat and take up his scarf.

"Like hell I will-"

"You. Will. Stay!" Sherlock suddenly says with much more force than is his usual and John stops, looking at the man cautiously.

Sherlock lets a gush of air escape through his nose as he glares at the man knowingly, "You are too close to this. Just two days ago you're abusive step-father showed up out of the blue and brought back every thing that makes you a _very_ dangerous person. Don't you see?"

"See what?" John asks.

"He never had any intention of winning that battle, he was just baiting you. Trying to create within you the conflict he knew was there, had always been there. He knew just his presence would create a downward spiral in your life, create a chaos you might not be able to pull away from."

John says nothing as he stares at his friend from under a very angry brow, "If I let you go out there, if I let you close to this man….you might-"

"What?" John asks in a low, gravelly voice.

Sherlock studies his face and then swings his coat over his shoulders, "Do something we both regret."

John shakes his head adamantly, "No, no Sherlock you know me better than that. I can control myself better than you are giving me credit-"

"Can you?" Sherlock asks as his eyes dart to the hole in the wall and he says sharply, "Colton Blakey might disagree."

John's eyes scan to the hole and he instantly grows annoyed, "That's different!"

"How?" Sherlock counters, "How is it different?" When John doesn't respond Sherlock nods, knowing his decision is correct, "You won't be able to stop yourself. I can already see it in your eyes, he is just another Wayne Harvey to you, you can't separate him from your step-father and I don't intend to be the one who puts you in that situation."

Sherlock goes to leave and John grabs his shoulder, "NO!" Sherlock suddenly yells and John jerks back in shock.

The man looks away regretfully and then takes a breath as he peers down to his friend, "I am….sorry, John, but you are staying here. I will find the girl and be back within a few hours, before nightfall."

"And what am I supposed to do until then? Just sit here like some mental patient while you go out and have all the fun?"

Sherlock clenches his eyes shut, knowing John is just being an arsehole because he doesn't want to admit Sherlock is right, "Just….go downstairs, spend time with your daughter. There will be other cases, ones that won't put you in harms way."

John bites his lips to keep from saying something hateful and Sherlock finally turns and leaves. John watching him disappear down the stairs, the anger which has been sleeping most of the day suddenly roaring to life and he lets out a frustrated bark of a laugh as he looks to the window and crosses his arms over his chest.

PAGEBREAK

It takes four hours to track down Graham and his daughter, the two having been held up in a warehouse on the outskirts of Brighton. It had been the easiest trail to follow, clues glaringly obvious for anyone who knew how and where to look.

The hard part was keeping Graham from doing something drastic once they had him cornered on the roof of the building. Macey's terrified and dirty face looking at Sherlock, Greg and Sally with a desperate longing.

"You've lost, but you don't have to punish Macey for it." Sherlock says as he holds up his hands, taking a step closer.

"Stay back, Macey is mine! She is my baby girl! She belongs with me and I don't intend to let that cunt have her!" He says pointing his gun at Sally.

"You bastard! I know you've been hurting her! You don't deserve to have her!"

"Sally!" Macey shrieks and the man holding her gives a violent shake, "Shut up, Macey! You are with me now! I am your daddy, I know what is best for you!"

"Stop hurting her!" Sally yells angrily and Sherlock instantly holds up a hand to her, "Shut up, Sally." he says gently, "Everyone should remain calm." Sherlock presses.

"You're done, Graham. Just let the girl go, come quietly and we can talk about a reduced sentence." Greg offers, his gun still trained on the man sharply.

"Lower your fucking guns or I will break her arm!" he yells suddenly, grabbing Macey's arm tightly and the girl yells.

"No! No, just...remain calm, Greg, Sally, guns down….DROP THEM NOW!" Sherlock bellows and reluctantly both set them slowly to the ground.

"Now, we've done as you've asked, hand over Macey and I promise you, no one will get hurt." Sherlock tries again, his eyes subtly scanning around for anything he could use to his advantage.

The only thing he sees is a bit of discarded rope but he thinks that may be just the thing, his mind calculating the combined strength of Sally and Greg versus his weight combined with that of the little girl before him.

 _Additional weight is negligible, get him to the edge, grab the rope and-_

Suddenly a shot rings out and Sherlock swings around to look at the surrounding buildings as Graham gives a jerk and suddenly the hand holding the gun drops, the object clattering to the floor.

His hold on Macey's arm doesn't change though and blood blooms across his chest and the girl screams. Sherlock instantly moves, yelling as he does, "GREG, SALLY, THE ROPE! GRAB THE ROPE!"

The two instantly spring forward and as Graham backs to the edge, the shock of the bullet piercing him causing him to seemingly space on his proximity to open air, he stumbles back and falls off, pulling Macey with him.

Sherlock stoops to the rope and keeps running as he instantly dives over the edge, latching on to Macey's wrist, Graham not quit incoherent enough to let go right away and his weight yanks on the girl, now caught between Sherlock's iron grip and Grahams dead weight.

"Shake him loose Macey, SHAKE HIM OFF! KICK HIM!" Sherlock yells desperately as he hears Greg and Sally gasp from up above at the unexpected weight.

The girl instantly complies and shoves a heel into the man's nose and that seems to be it, his grips slides and he falls the remaining three stories to the ground below, splayed out like a rag doll, "No! No, Macey, look at me, that's a good girl, don't look down. Come on, climb up to me." and he pulls her up to him, thin arms wrapping around his neck as she starts to cry.

"That's a brave girl, so brave, why don't we get back to the roof. Take us up!" Sherlock calls and they start to raise back towards the sky.

Once he is close enough Sherlock helps Macey scale his body and make it to Sally who pulls her up and gives an exceedingly relieved sob.

Greg helps Sherlock over and the man freezes when he sees John standing a few yards away, eyes sharp and his Browning held in a hand at his side.

Sherlock shakes his head angrily and intends to approach the man when he is stopped by a body colliding with his own.

He looks down in shock to see Sally embracing him, her face now dry of tears but she looks up at him and with a sudden gentle smile says so softly, "Thank you."

He looks to John for a sign and the man nods once so Sherlock slowly raises his arms to embrace the woman cautiously.

She then pulls away looks to her sister who is standing next to her, "Can you say thank you to the nice man?" and Macey looks up at him, "Thank you, Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock crouches down then, looking at the girl as a hand comes to cup her cheek, "Do me a favor, yeah?" The girl nods, "Keep your sister out of trouble?"

And he hears Sally snort at the comment but Macey nods quickly, "She is always in trouble, but I will try my best." and Sherlock smiles as he stands, looking to Sally, "Take care, Sergeant Donovan." Sherlock says softly.

The woman nods and looks to her sister, giving a grunt as she hoists her up, "Come on Macey Moo, let's go home." she quickly walks away, holding and kissing the girl desperately, "SALLY, YOU'RE SQUISHING ME!"

"The rest of my life, I will." the woman promises as she makes her way down the stairs leading from the roof.

This leaves Greg, Sherlock and John, the silver haired detective looking between the two young men who are staring hard at each other.

"You did a good thing, Sherlock. Sally will repay the favor and I think she might just stop insulting you."

"Mm, either way, she is lucky to have someone to take care of, and to be so taking care of in return." and John finally looks away at this, his eyes finding the roof far more interesting than Sherlock's disapproving eyes.

"It was a good gambit." Greg says as he tucks his gun back into his holster.

Sherlock looks at the man and Greg smirks, "Keeping John hidden like that, gave us the edge we needed. No pun intended." Sherlock rolls his eyes, "Go home Greg, I need to speak with my blogger, alone."

Greg looks between the two, only just now noticing how John has kept his distance, looks ashamed by his actions and he realizes that this was not, in fact, planned.

"Right, well….I best go down and see to the...body…"

"Yes." Sherlock muses as he places his hands firmly behind his back and continues to glare at his friend.

He glances once more between the two and shakes his head, "Yeah, definitely not my division." he quickly makes an exit, getting on the horn to report the situation and get people enroute to clean up and take statements. Whatever is going on between John and Sherlock, Greg knows, it will only bowl over whoever tries to get in the way.

PAGEBREAK

John slams the door to the warehouse open, ignoring the looks from the crime scene unit as he passes by and yells angrily at the man who follows behind, "Oh, so _I'm_ the one being unreasonable?"

"You're shouting again." Sherlock says broodingly.

"Of course I am! Because you are a bloody hypocrite!" John says as he heads for the forest green Range Rover that he had arrived in.

"You were supposed to stay at home!" Sherlock suddenly yells back and this draws even more eyes to them.

"What am I? You're wife? Stay home, watch the baby, Jesus Sherlock, I'm not a damn invalid."

"No, of course not. You're just mentally unstable and mildly homicidal!" and John swings around, goes to poke the man in the chest and then stops when he sees all of the eyes, Greg and Sally included, looking at him in shock.

"Oh piss off!" John yells at them all and Sherlock shuts his eyes, rubbing at them in frustration as he opens the passenger side door, "Get in the car." he says, motioning with the gun for John to comply.

"There you go again, bossing me around like I am some sort of-"

"Get in the bloody car!" Sherlock hisses venomously low as he jams the gun's muzzle up under John's jaw.

If John is surprised by this he doesn't show it, his eyes shining angrily as he swallows, his friend adding on with slightly less salt, "Please."

Finally John nods and he climbs in, Sherlock slamming the door as his eyes scan the group watching them, before he raises a hand to wave and says happily in farewell, "Morning!"

He rounds to the driver side and gets in, slamming the door shut behind him, a frown now smeared on his face as he glances to his friend who is essentially pouting angrily in the seat next to him.

"How did you find the gun." Sherlock suddenly asks, that question having been plaguing his mind since he saw John holding it on the roof.

He tells himself John shouldn't have been able to find it and that the only option was that John had at some point acquired a second one without Sherlock knowing, something that makes his stomach churn in annoyance.

"Fuck off." John says dismissively.

Sherlock sighs as he starts the car, "For God's sake."

PAGEBREAK

The drive back is dangerously quiet, both men brooding in their own separate ways, John's foot up on the dash as he sags in the seat and looks out the window, his knuckles grazing back and forth across his lips.

Sherlock is staring straight ahead, his eyes on the road, but his mind spinning with what he is going to do about his suddenly rage driven, gun happy sidekick.

They reach Baker street in record time and upon entering Mrs. Hudson greets them, little Rosie bouncing happily on her hip.

John's bad moods instantly melts when he sees his daughter, reaching for her instantly but Sherlock interveins and John looks at him and narrows his eyes.

"Mrs. Hudson, aren't you do to pay your sister a visit in Edinburgh?"

Mrs. Hudson looks at him thoughtfully before she says, "Yes, I was planning to leave tomorrow actually, how did you remember that?" she asks him with a smile.

"Habits, Mrs. Hudson, are notoriously hard to break. Why don't you take little Rosamund with you, give John and I a break from our life of _domestic bliss_." he says the last part sarcastically and sees John glaring up at him.

Mrs. Hudson lights up at that, "Oh, lovely! Yes, little Rosie in the country, that'd be just adorable wouldn't it?"

"Hang on, I didn't agree to this. I think, it would be better if my daughter stayed right here with me." and he takes her from the woman and goes to move upstairs.

"John-" Sherlock says with a tone that warns of a storm about to fall and he looks at Sherlock from the bottom of the stair.

"You cannot break bad behavior if everytime you misbehave you reward yourself after. Rosie….she needs to go for a few days, until we get things...sorted."

"What are you implying, Sherlock?" And John does not look pleased at all.

Sherlock sighs as he says with annoyance, "Think of Colton Blakey, of what happened in the bathroom with Rosie just after."

"That was a singular-" John starts but Sherlock cuts him off, "Same night, in your bedroom...the gun?"

John shakes his head, "You know that was different-"

"Was it? Think of the hole in the wall, the events of today, how many more slips will you allow before Rosie gets caught in the crossfire?"

Mrs. Hudson looks between them in confusion but remains quiet. John stares at Sherlock and understands what he is saying, knows he is right but he shakes his head anyway, "No, not my daughter Sherlock, please. Not her, she is all I have left, I'd never...I would never hurt her-" and he pulls her closer to his chest and looks at his friend with desperate eyes.

"I know you believe that, I believe it too but I think it better to simply remove the valuables from the flat before a housebreak can even occur. I will make sure Mycroft sends some men to keep an eye on things, she will be well looked after, I dare say even spoiled." and Sherlock looks to Mrs. Hudson who nods quickly, still not sure what is going on but she can tell that Sherlock fears for Rosie and that is good enough for her to agree, "Oh yes, my sister absolutely adores children. She will be treated as if she is a true Sissons. She won't even know you are gone."

John shakes his head and kisses his daughters cheek, "No, Rosie...she stays with me."

Sherlock sighs, removes his scarf and coat and hangs them on the pegs in the hall before approaching John carefully, "John, you know it is for the best. Everytime you slip, every time your anger gets the better of you...you come home to this beautiful little girl and it only serves to reinforce your behavior. It will only be a few days, think of it as a sobering reminder."

"Reminder of what?" John asks as he looks at his daughter with adoring eyes and a frown, "Of what could happen someday if you don't get these demons under control."and he suddenly looks up at Sherlock and swallows thickly.

"If you don't get your anger under control, if you do not get help...I will take her from you….for her own protection." Sherlock says and John can see how sincere he is, how sure of himself he is that he could win, and John knows he could.

He lets out a little sob and his shaky arms release her as Sherlock gently takes the happy girl, "Wait, wait please, Sherlock." John whispers and he leans in, bringing his forehead to his daughters, her little hands running over his face, nose and chin.

"Da!" she cooes happily, "Yes, I am your daddy, don't...don't you forget it." he says teasingly but he is fighting off tears and takes a step back so that Sherlock can move away, handing the child off to Mrs. Hudson.

"Everything will be fine, John will be fine, but you best take a few extra days. I will have Mycroft assign men to you, make sure you take every precaution. Rosie is the only thing left holding John together, but he has to learn he can't keep going on the way he has been."

"A bit of tough love will do it, I should think."

"My hopes exactly." Sherlock confirms softly.

"I will...I will send photos then, shall I?" she asks with a small smile.

Sherlock nods, "John will like that."

"Right, well, best be off, lots of packing… be careful Sherlock."

"You too." he says and then he turns to find John has slid down the wall, his head hanging, arms draped over knees and another little sob escapes him.

Sherlock grabs his coat and scarf, crosses to his friend and extends a hand down to him.

John looks up at it, angry red rimmed eyes staring at the help given to him bitterly, but after a few more seconds he takes it and Sherlock hoists him up. The man bringing his hand to John's cheek, the most intimate touch they have shared outside of Sherlock's bedroom, "We will get this sorted, I promise you."

John nods and reaches up to pull Sherlock's hand away from his face and Sherlock is prepared to watch the man walk away but is surprised when John laces their fingers together and he murmurs softly, "I am really pissed off at you right now."

"I know." Sherlock says softly.

"Why do you always have to be right, you stupid awful-"

Sherlock raises a finger to his lips and John falls silent, "Verbal abuse does not become you, Watson. Come on, I sense a game of Cluedo is just what we need."

John gives a snort of laughter, "Not likely." but Sherlock starts walking up the stairs and John follows. The doctor has no idea how Sherlock savours the feel of their hands wrapped up together, his mind musing how it represents the way their hearts have always been.

PAGEBREAK

When they reach the top of the stairs and enter the flat they are greeted by the sight of Rosie's things scattered about and John heaves out a shaky sigh, "I don't...I don't know if I can do this."

Sherlock releases his hold on the man's hand and moves into the room to start picking up her things, putting toys back in the basket, folding the blankets and placing them all neatly on the table.

"You can. Soldier, John, for Rosie you must soldier through this."

"I want...I want my daughter Sherlock." John says already backing towards the door.

"You know you cannot keep feeding your bad behavior by rewarding yourself with her love. One day, she will be old enough to know better, she can't become what you want her to be. Now, sit." and Sherlock points to his chair.

"And what do I want her to be?" John snaps, crossing to his chair and sitting down with a huff.

Sherlock stares at him from his crouched position next to the coffee table and says softly, "She is your forgiveness."

"My what?"

"In some religions the sins of the followers can be forgiven by their God if they seek that forgiveness and embrace his love. Rosie is just the same to you."

"You think I see my daughter as a God?" he says with a doubtful yet angry chuckle.

"No, your saviour."

"Unbelievable." he groans.

"Not so, think about it, every time you act out your anger, do something you know is bad or considered morally wrong, you come home to find the one person who won't judge you, who loves you endlessly and with no thoughts to the crimes and sins you have commited. She is oblivious to it, unaware that her father is a murderer, a rageaholic brute who takes his anger out on anyone who gets too close."

"Shut up, Sherlock." he says angrily.

"She offers you the absolution you need, absolving you of your misdeeds and allowing you to forget the horrors you are living through, and the crimes you have commited. I will not allow you to use her as such, no matter how subconscious it might be."

John suddenly stands, his hands clenching tightly and he cocks his head to the side, a joint in his neck popping as he glares daggers at Sherlock.

"Take it back." John says deathly low, fire burning hot in his eyes, cheeks turning red.

"What if I don't." Sherlock says standing, staring the man down.

"Then I will make you." John warns.

"Will you hit me, _Johnny_?" Sherlock asks sarcastically and the next thing Sherlock sees is John charging, a yell cascading out of his throat as he swings bloody fast, Sherlock prepared for the outburst as he admittedly just baited the man.

He blocks the swing but John raises a foot and shoves it into Sherlock's stomach, the taller man stumbling back and landing on the coffee table, Rosie's things scattering.

John stomps his foot down on Sherlock's chest and the man grunts but he doesn't wait and his hands grip John's foot and press it up and away, making John stumble back. Sherlock is able to stand just long enough for John to rush him again and wrap arms around his torso, this time shoving him back into the doorframe, breath escaping Sherlock's lungs and he clasps his hands together, raises them and crashes them down on John's back.

The man drops to the floor, grunting at the impact of both the fists and the floor before he rolls to the side and manages to stumble to his feet, "Stay down, John!" Sherlock says angrily.

John is breathing heavy, looking at Sherlock with murderous eyes, "Look at yourself, John! This is why Wayne came! He is getting everything he wanted and he knew he wouldn't have to do anything but show up!"

John wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and asks in a rather dark voice, "What are you on about?" taking a few steps towards Sherlock and the man holds up a hand, "He came here, he came here knowing his very presence would set you off. He raised you John, he knows more about your personality and your triggers than anyone else! He knew he was too old to get revenge on his own, saw the life you now had and the only thing he cared about was causing as much damage to it as possible."

John seems to finally hear what Sherlock is saying, the anger slowly leaving his face to be replaced with realization and shock, the blood draining from it quickly.

"He didn't even need a loaded firearm, chances were if he had gotten you into a car, he might have stopped to get something more lethal but given the nature of your flatmate he figured his chances were small he could get that far. His only goal in coming here was to rile you up, make you face demons and agressions you have been ignoring for years….YEARS John….you aren't an angry person by nature, no...not you….you're far too kind for that...all this is is twenty-eight years of repressed anger, hatred and pain. He knew if he could just get your walls to crumble...even a little….then they would break, and you would fall victim to your own poison. He wouldn't have to lift a finger to ruin your entire life….you'd do it all on your own."

John is breathing heavy now, the truth of Sherlock's words ringing in his head as he feels guilt, fear and humiliation swarm him and suddenly tears come rushing forward and he sinks to his knees.

Sherlock stands by the door, hands braced on his knees as he tries to catch his breath, feeling the bruise on his chest and the ache of his back but he gives a rather satisfied sigh.

After a moment he stands upright and moves over to kneel down next to him, "John, all you have to do, _all_ you have to do, is be stronger than the anger. Don't give in to it, you have hidden it away for years, you can't do it anymore, you don't need it to survive. You used to...but now...now the only thing you need to survive is the happiness and love you feel for your daughter. I can do the protecting bit, you just need to focus on her. Let the anger disappear."

And the man lets out a nasty sob at Sherlock's words, his body sagging sideways and Sherlock wraps his arms around him, falling back to sit on his bum, his back resting against the side of John's chair.

"We can beat this John, we have to. But I need you to start listening to me, stop fighting me." Sherlock says into John hair and the man below lets out a ragged sigh, "Since when did you become the grown up?"

Sherlock smirks, "Oh, you'd be surprised."

John stares out of swollen eyes at the flat he considers his home, the only true home he has ever had, "You've always been the grown up, haven't you." John says resolutely.

Sherlock's eyes glance up at this, looking at Rosie's toys, once again scattered about and thinking of what his mother had said to him when she had been told about Mycroft's grave misjudgment on hiding the truth about Eurus.

"I suppose, keeping my little monsters out of trouble and protecting any of them who stray too far from the right path." and his voice is far away as he thinks of all those who he has chosen to surround himself with and realizes how much he would give for their safety.

"We are fucked up, aren't we." John says softly.

Sherlock nods quickly, "Yes, yes we are."

"It's nice." John says.

"Indubitably, Watson."

They remain that way for nearly an hour, both staring off and thinking of how their life would be different if they had never found each other, and inside of John another wall breaks just a little bit more. Sherlock feels his mind trying to press his focus on solving John's problems aside to make room for something much more dangerous, much more intimate.

But neither say a word about it and after awhile, John gets up to have a wash and Sherlock once again picks up the sitting room, eventually crossing to John's coat and removing the gun.

PAGEBREAK

" _How long are you going to deny me?"_ and John jerks around in the shower as he drops his rag and stares at Mary, the woman naked but unaffected by the water.

He scans her body up and down, can't stop the fact that blood rushes to his groin, still he shakes his head and clears his throat, "Go the hell away." and he grabs up his rag and turns back around, re-soaping the cloth and continuing to wash.

" _Did you ever think that maybe, the reason you are so resistant to this, isn't because you aren't gay, but because you don't want to be like Wayne?"_

"What, like a pedophile, no I don't think that was ever a problem." comes his sarcastic reply and he shoves his face under the water to drown her out.

" _You know what I mean, you are just being difficult, another way for you to live in this denial you have built over years."_

"Why doesn't ANYONE believe me when I say I am not gay!" John says loudly, glancing at the shower curtain as he realizes that Sherlock probably heard that.

" _Wayne prayed on you, prayed on the innocent and weak, the uneducated and the unknowing...those who didn't realize they deserved better...you have always found Sherlock's innocents endearing, his curious and impulssive nature similar to that of a child."_

"Sherlock is not a child." John says adamantly, "He can act like one at times…" and at Mary's look he backtracks, "Alright, most of the time, but he is an adult, self-aware of his actions and able to make sound judgments. He has proven that to me over the last few days, I know he isn't as immature as I originally thought."

" _Yes, husband, and look what has happened within the days he has shown this to you, you're in his bed every night, waking up from dreams about him, you had a bloody bird hanging from your underwear-"_

"Shut up." he hisses and grabs the shampoo to wash his hair.

He hears Mary sigh and then she yanks the shampoo from him, John looking at her in shock as he watches her put the shampoo into her hands and set the bottle down.

"How are you-" but he trails off and at his look she shakes her head, " _Don't question it, just bend forward, leave such things to psychologists and people who write Fanfiction. They never explain anything properly anyway."_

John puts it out of his mind, having zero interest in dissecting how an imaginary manifestation of his subconscious could give him a wash.

After a few minutes of her running fingers through his hair and making it a soapy sloppy mess he stands and leans back into the water," _Fine, let's approach this from a different angle, you aren't gay."_ Mary says crossing her arms and John pulls his head from the water and he nods, "Thank you." he gushes as he wipes his face with a hand and then reaches for the conditioner.

When Mary goes to take it he turns away, "Ah! No, no I think I can do it myself, keep your ability to break the laws of physics to yourself."

As he threads the conditioner through his golden hair Mary speaks softly, _"So, not gay, but, you do love Sherlock. You've openly admitted that to him, yourself and plenty of other people."_ and Mary's voice sounds crafty, calculating and John glances at her as his curiosity in where his subconscious is taking him overrules his annoyance.

"Yes." he admits with no problem whatsoever.

" _So answer me this, John Watson, if you love him-"_ and she steps up to him, a hand taking his face and pulling him close, " _Does it matter whether or not you're gay?"_

He looks into her eyes, sees himself looking back, realizes she isn't messing with him and he sighs, "I don't want to deal with this right now." he near whines.

" _Sorry John, I am only doing myself a favor being so blunt, you know how many people would love to have a direct link to their subconcious? You're special, always been special, so...why don't you take advantage of your excessive understanding of the human condition and just try embracing it? Wayne broke one wall, why not let the other break too, start fresh….start again."_

"I don't want to start over again, I always have to rebuild myself, everytime...always...can't I just stay the way I am for once in my life? No more big upheavals or sudden mid-life crisis, I've had my fair share. I'd like to be well adjusted for once."

Mary yawns and points to her mouth as she releases his face, _"Ah, look, so boring I am yawning. Just suck it up and instead of ignoring your problems face them. Deal with your anger, deal with your feelings for Sherlock. Just look at him...study him..._ _ **observe**_ _him. It isn't like you don't know how, he taught you enough to do it. Allow yourself to actually see him and maybe, just maybe, you will see yourself."_

John looks up and realizes Mary is gone and he rubs his hand down his face, "Right, right, so...just-"

" _GET THE HELL ON WITH IT!"_ her voice shouts next to his ear and he jerks around and slips, falling down and banging his head on the floor of the shower, his world going black just after he sees the bathroom door burst open.

PAGEBREAK

"John!" he comes around slowly, Sherlock's voice pulling him from the darkness and he sees the bright light of the bathroom silhouetted behind Sherlock's head.

"What the hell happened...oh...my head...the hell? Sherlock...Sherlock what happened?"

"I thought you might tell me, you fell, what was the cause?" and John looks around to see he is out of the shower, the water having been shut off and he is currently laying on the floor of the bathroom, Sherlock hovering over him, a hand on his face while the other is pressing hair away from his forehead.

"M-Mary." he says through clenched teeth as the throbbing in his head suddenly hits him and he raises a hand to cover his eyes, "Mary? In the shower? What did she want?" Sherlock asks and John shakes his head, "Not now, Sherlock. I need to, I need to lay down, can you help me to bed, please?"

"Of course." The man says and he carefully helps John to stand, the blonde suddenly becoming aware of the fact he is naked. He can't really care at this point considering Sherlock has already seen his prick and simply grabs the towel off the tabletop and slowly wraps it around himself.

"Bloody hell, I may have a small concussion." he moans and Sherlock goes to take him upstairs but John moves the other way, "No stairs, can't do it, your room alright?"

"Yes." Sherlock concedes and after several minutes they get him in, lay him down and John pulls the blankets up, giving a sigh of relief when the cool pillow touches the back of his head.

"What do you need?" Sherlock asks.

"Grab be some acetaminophen, a glass of water the small flashlight off the table."

Sherlock leaves and then returns again shortly, John cursing his subconscious for causing the man so much trouble.

Sherlock gives him the pills and the water after he helps John to sit up and when he sets the water aside he hands Sherlock the flashlight, "Here, look at my pupils and shine this in them, tell me how quickly they retract."

The man sits down next to him on the bed and does as he is told, leaning in and placing a hand gingerly on the man's face, holding his eye open as he shines the light.

"Quickly." Sherlock says and John motions to the other eye, Sherlock repeating the same process.

"Same." Sherlock says.

"Good, that's good...less likely I have a concussion and more likely I just took a rather bad spill. You should keep me awake for a few hours extra, don't let me sleep...just to be on the safe side."

"Feels bad?" Sherlock asks.

"It wasn't a normal fall, I heard a crack, more than likely nothing, but I just want to be safe."

"The human skull can take a lot of pressure before it breaks though I tend to agree that more than likely you will just be nursing a migraine for a day or so."

"Given my current temperament, maybe you should join Mrs. Hudson and Rosie, far less likely to get strangled."

Sherlock smirks, "What kind of a friend would I bet if I abandoned you in your hour of need." and John looks up at him, sees the way Sherlock is staring, his eyes alert and engaging, face relaxed and open. In this moment John can read the man's face completely, something he has never been able to do.

"Sherlock?" John asks softly.

"Hmm?" the man responds, his eyes still locked with John's.

"Why do you look at me like that?" he asks suddenly and at the response of Sherlock's face, how quickly his changes from open and attentive to neutral and indifferent John realizes he shouldn't have asked.

"I want to make sure you're alright."

"I am." John says, his hand sliding forward a little on the bed, the tips of his fingers brushing across Sherlock's and the detective looks down, sees that John is initiating touch actively and he looks up at the man, John asking softly, "Would you like to have dinner?"

Sherlock's eyes grow wide and he says softly, "Yes." his tongue darting across his lips and John furrows his brow, "What you want than?"

"Anything you do." Sherlock smirks as he leans closer.

John gives him a confused look and then offers, "How bout Chinese?"

Sherlock suddenly seems to shake free from his thoughts and he sits up ridged as his face pales and he looks anywhere but at John, "Yes, of course. We haven't really eaten since...breakfast...I will….phone...something." and then he stands and leaves the room.

John leans forward to look after him with concern only to grip at his head from the movement and gently lean back.

PAGEBREAK

John doesn't get out of bed the rest of the evening, they eat together on Sherlock's bed, afterwards, they spend some time goofing off on their phones and then John settles for doing some work on his laptop while Sherlock plays softly on his violin.

After awhile Sherlock lowers his instrument, causing John to look up from the screen, "I've always hated playing in here, the walls are much too close and absorptive, makes it sound wretched."

"I thought it sounded nice." John offers.

"You would, uneducated as you are about music." Sherlock snips and John sees a tantrum coming on, he also feels his anger rise and he takes a deep soothing breath, grabs the anger by the throat and bashes it over the head, "We can move to the sitting room if you like." and Sherlock glances at him, studies him and moment and then moves off the bed, "I'll just go put this useless thing away."

John shrugs it off and goes back to work, Sherlock returning shortly to lay down next to him and seemingly enter his mind palace.

It is quiet for a good half hour, John finally starting to get tired, the light hurting his eyes and the headache from before, which has ebbed to a dull throb, now seems to be returning. He reaches for another tablet and pops it into his mouth, sipping some water and then feeling the bump on his head.

"Yeah, really smooth John. Let's hit senile before you're even fifty." he allows his fingers to examine around the tender bump, rather big and swollen and he sighs, "You should have iced it." he murmurs, "Why didn't you think to ice it? Proper doctor you are." and he rolls his eyes and returns to his laptop.

 _Oh, must be love on the brain..._ he hears Mary's voice say and he suddenly stills. Thinks a moment and then pulls up Youtube and types in the lyrics.

"Rihanna?" John says in confusion, he knows he has never listened to her, though he thinks he vaguely recalls hearing Mary talk about her. Some big pop star, very popular among the younger, fairer sex.

It isn't until he hears the music start that he realizes he has heard it before, the radio on his way to work. The few times he took the car it was played constantly, an American and apparently British favorite.

He had no clue in all reality, but upon hearing the song he realizes what he heard of it in his dream was only half formed. The song is much more….intimate to hear in real life, much more layered with a subtext he doesn't want to think about.

His eyes glance to Sherlock and his heart rate increases, he looks away quickly and then sighs, "Ohmygod." he winces out.

"What is _that_?" and John jumps at Sherlock's voice and goes to close the laptop but Sherlock's hand reaches over and grabs his arm.

"What is that noise?" he asks and John feels his face heat up, "Nothing, just a song I heard the other day, was trying to figure out who sang it." he lies quickly, his free hand jumping to exit out of the app and the music stops.

Sherlock releases his hold on John and the man breaths out slowly and then bites his bottom lip, glancing to his friend who has seemingly returned to his mind palace

John carefully types the lyrics in a new search engine and reads through them...then reads them again. Then he reads them twice more before his quick fingers enter a new search and enquire about the meaning of music in dreams.

Google proves to be little help as the basic answer it gives about music in dreams is generic at best. He dives deeper, doing multiple searches, clicking links, finding papers on excerpts from well authored studies and books.

John has always been good at this, taking notes, studying and remembering things. It was how he got through medical school, how he manages to keep up with Sherlock and Mycroft and their dizzying intellect.

He does this for another hour, the night slipping away slowly and after he feels confident he puts all his notes together onto a clean Word Doc and goes through them. Organizing and creating a thesis similar to what he would have done for a Doctor's prognosis.

He is about to go back and do a final revision when he is stopped by Sherlock's soft voice, "My you are a busy Boswell, anything I can help with?"

John stops, looks at all the open tabs, the multiple documents he has started, the fact that he fell into a pit of research and note taking more reminiscent of his college days than of actually answering his question, which he now realizes he doesn't remember.

"John?" Sherlock calls again and the man looks over to see Sherlock waiting expectantly, eyes still closed, "Hmm? Ah, no actually, I was just, uh, yeah, just finishing." and he shuts all the tabs, saves the documents and gently closes the screen.

He lets out a heavy sigh and rubs at his eyes, "Waste of bloody time, can't understand any of it."

"John?" Sherlock calls again softly, eliciting a gently "Hmm?" from John in return.

"You love me, correct?" Sherlock asks and John's eyes look up, before glancing to his friend. He crosses his arms over his chest, a sharp sniff signaling his discomfort as he clears his throat, "Yeah, ehem, most of the time." he says with a smirk.

Sherlock's eyes are still closed, hands steepled before his face as he asks, "In which way, do you love me?" his deep voice resonates through the room, John feeling shivers once again run up his spin at the sound of it and he chews his bottom lip as he decides how to answer.

The memories of his conversation with Mary in the shower come back to him and he lets out a sigh, unfolding his arms so he can set it on the floor next to the bed.

Once he has returned to an upright position he once again looks down at his friend, studies the man's features carefully. Pale skin, dark hair and high cheekbones, things he didn't fail to noticed the first time John met him.

He thinks back over the years he has been with Sherlock, thinks of their interactions, the powerful force Sherlock has become in his life and then he scans down the man's body, seeing the gray t-shirt hug his masculine form, notices how low his dark blue pants sit on his hips and the small portion of exposed hair leading down to his groin.

He feels a little stir in his abdomen, allows his eyes to scan back up and he gets stopped by the sight of Sherlock's icy blue eyes staring at him, "What do you deduce, John?" he asks softly and John gives a reluctant sigh as he reaches out a hand and tentatively runs it through Sherlocks curls.

"I am trying to figure it out, mate. Can you give me time?"

Sherlock thinks on this a moment and then nods once, "Thank you." John says and he turns away to click off his light. Tucking down under the covers and rolling to look at the wall. He feels Sherlock shift and slide under the covers next to him.

"Are you alright to sleep now? Has an adequate amount of time passed?" Sherlock asks.

"I'll be fine Sherlock, if you're worried at all in the night, just check to make sure my breathing is regular and not too shallow."

"And if it's shallow?" Sherlock asks.

"If it's shallow I will be getting a decent night's rest for the first time in seven years." he says sarcastically, knowing he won't be slipping into a comma from the bump he sustained but liking the idea of teasing Sherlock just a little.

He hears Sherlock snort at the comment and gives a small smirk of his own. His eyes starting to slide shut but he is pulled awake again when he feels Sherlock press into his back, a hand coming to rest around him and the man's face nestling into his neck, "I'll check it regularly." he whispers into John's ear and John nods his head, his lips rolling together as the minor heat that has been trickling occasionally in his lower abdomen seems to suddenly flow more readily and John closes his eyes and takes a deep steadying breath.

 _Easy old boy, just get some rest, sort it out in the morning._ He muses to himself.

 _ **You aren't going to slip into a coma from a little fall in the tub, man up John Watson, there is no escaping me!**_ Comes Mary's rather pleased voice.

"Shut up." he whispers softly.

' _ **Besides, even if you did, I'll just be there waiting for you...we can spend hours talking about how much you don't love Sherlock Holmes.**_

John's eyes crack open at this before he whispers dejectedly, "Damn it." and then slowly, he falls into sleep.

 **A/n: Man, I am popping these out! Would love to hear what you all have to say, read and review and I will try to post chapter four by tomorrow night! Hope you enjoyed it, oh the angst!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Alright, this is the final chapter in the Wayne Harvey part of the story, one or two chapters left after this. There is a lemon in here, good guy lemons and some minor feels. Sorry I didn't post it last night but I ran out of data, had to post this at work.**

 **Warnings below, PLEASE READ THEM! Also, leave a review if you like it cause I am super crazy nervous about posting this chapter. It was hell to write, and I am kinda proud of it...but...it's pretty dark and FILLED with angsty...stuff...just... R &R.**

 **WARNINGS AND TRIGGER WARNINGS: MENTIONS AND DISCUSSIONS ABOUT ABUSE, PEDOPHILIA, RAPE, SEX BETWEEN TWO MEN, TRAUMA, LEMON, MXM, DREAM SEQUENCE ABOUT BAD THINGS (SPARSELY DETAILED) VERBAL ABUSE, NON-CON (MENTIONS ONLY) PSYCHOLOGICAL SUBJECT MATTER, SELF-LOATHING AND SELF-HATE.**

 **Phew! That should cover it, if any of this bothers you, may cause a trigger for you, don't read, my writing isn't worth it. Much love and as always, enjoy!**

 **CHAPTER FOUR**

 **Sins of the Sister**

John wakes up first, at least, he is ninety-five percent sure he wakes up first. The few times he has opened his eyes in the morning after sleeping in Sherlock's room it is usually do to an unpleasant dream.

He assumes Sherlock was already awake or was woken by John's sharp jerk. Today, however, it seems John did not dream. So when he opens his eyes he remains still, hears first Sherlock's slow even breathing, then feels the dead weight pressed against his side.

Oh, right, it's Wednesday.

It was a habit that had taken years to implement but once they had managed it things had become much easier for everyone and helped to give Sherlock a more manageable schedule and sleeping habits.

When John had first moved in he noticed Sherlock rarely slept and when he did sleep he would either be out all day or toss and turn on the couch.

It wasn't until John couldn't take the inconsistency anymore he had bargained with the man. A year into their flatshare John had offered, as a doctor, to help Sherlock iron out a schedule that would work for them both.

Essentially Sherlock would take a nap or a simple lay down once a day every Monday and Tuesday for a minimum two hours. Wednesday he would go to bed between ten and midnight and sleep until noon or one and Thursday and Friday he would be free to do as he wished as long as he had one lay down or nap on Saturday and slept between eleven pm and five am on Sunday.

It was confusing at first, and Sherlock had to adjust over several months but it got to the point where following John's schedule got him the rest his body needed and kept him from keeping John awake when the doctor needed sleep. John also noticed Sherlock had seemed far less cranky once his body had been given some form of pattern to follow.

The only exception to this was when Sherlock had a case an during that time John would be with him or follow a similar schedule anyway so it didn't matter.

All that being said, on Wednesdays, Sherlock was out cold, not even an elephant could wake him. John realizes this is the perfect moment to work on his feelings, as he had promised the man he was doing last night.

John looked down at their bodies, close and tucked together like a knit scarf. Sherlock has a hand splayed on his stomach while the other is tucked over John's head, one leg thrown across his thighs and Sherlock's face rests inches from his.

John doesn't feel panic. In fact, he doesn't feel anything at first, he simply chooses to exist in this moment as Sherlock's apparent bed-mate and examine how he feels about it.

Two weeks ago he would have been jumping from the bed, possibly yelling at the man for being so thoroughly wrapped around him to hide how uncomfortable it made him feel.

But now he just lays there, inhaling the man's scent of sandalwood and cigarettes, though John isn't sure when the man would have had time to knick one.

' _Odd, don't you think?"_ And John looks up at Mary with annoyed eyes, the woman sitting at the foot of the bed, legs pulled to her chest, ankles crossed and arms wrapped securely around.

' _How it doesn't really bother you. Him being all cuddles and tender touches."_ and she gives the most gentle of smirks, John feels his cheeks burn but he doesn't remove himself and decides to refuse to answer, looking at Sherlock's face instead. It's completely relaxed, mouth open just slightly as he breathes in and out through his nose, his body managing to somehow look much smaller than it is while curled up next to him.

 _'It won't be good for him, you know that right?"_

John still doesn't want to look at her even as his teeth grind together and his fits tighten in anger.

 _"It won't be good for Sherlock. Oh, you know him well enough to know he will accept it. Take what little affection he can get from you. He'll consider himself lucky you'd give him any at all. But he wants more, you know he does, and anything less will only serve to tear him apart."  
_  
"Maybe you could shut up, let me figure this out for myself? Thanks." John says softly in an irritated voice.

" _Over time he will be less and less satisfied and he won't understand why."_

John finally looks at her with a narrow eyed glare and Mary, whose face is somber yet serious says, " _Until one day he does, and then suddenly your little bits of scrap affection will mean nothing. He will give up, unable to get the fix he craves, he will go looking elsewhere….tell me John….do you want to be responsible for something like that? The world out there in regards to companionship is confusing at the best of times…..unforgivingly brutal the rest, in that regard Sherlock is no different than anyone else….he won't be spared….they will rip him apart.'  
_  
John looks back to his friend, the man is most definitely asleep because just then he slides a little closer, his head coming to move from the pillow to the crook of John's shoulder, his strangely bent arm running fingers through his hair a moment before he seems to fall back under.

 _'You need to commit or you need to cut this off. You can't have both. It's all or it's nothing."_

John notes the sound of anger in her voice and he cocks a brow.

'' _Oh yeah-_ " Mary suddenly admits with a nod and small burst of laughter, ' _yeah, I am angry. Because I am you, the very base line for your wants and desires, your thoughts and feelings and I can tell you exactly how you feel about that man currently spooning up next to you."_

"I'd prefer you didn't." John suddenly warns, his voice still low and his eyes glaring venom at the woman before him.

' _You don't give a damn that he is a bloke, you don't care that he isn't always a grown up, that would be boring anyway. You don't care about any of it. You love him, more than you have ever loved anyone, the way you feel is so unique to him you can't even put it to words. So yeah, I'm angry and it has absolutely nothing to do with Wayne Harvey."  
_  
John shakes his head in dismay, "I can do this on my own, I can, if you are me you know I have the ability to...to see past my-"

" _Traumas?_ " She offers lightly.

"Doubts." he bites.

"John?" Comes Sherlock's groggy voice and John rolls onto his side, scooting down a little as he looks at Sherlock's sleep ridden face, What is it, Sherlock?" He asks softly.

"Alright?" is all the detective asks, his eyes just barely open and John can't help but give a smile as he reaches out a hand runs fingers through the man's curls.

His face is shoved into the pillow, and what little John can see of Sherlock's eye he notices they roll up into the back of his head at the action, "Uh, so nice." The man murmurs out.

"Sherlock, it's Wednesday, go back to sleep, mate. I won't expect to see you before one, yeah?"

"Mmm." The man manages to agree and John nods as he leans forward, giving a peck of a kiss to the man's brow, stopping long enough to try and register how it makes him feel to do so and then removes himself from the bed.

PAGEBREAK

He makes coffee and than carefully takes a shower. He checks the bump on his head, very happy to note he doesn't have a headache and the swelling has retracted considerably although the area is still tender. He gets dressed and retrieves his laptop and places it on the desk in the main room.

Pouring some coffee he closes his eyes and takes a moment to relish the silence of the flat. Though it makes his heart ache he realizes there isn't the scream of a happy child, no landlady to randomly show up, Lestrade knows not to come on Wednesdays before two and Sherlock will be out like a light for the next-

He looks at his watch.

"Four hours, all to yourself, that's a chunk you can use. Make it work." John says to himself as he crosses to his computer and sits down.

The first hour he checks his blog, reads through requests for assistance and deletes junk mail.

The second hour he plans his schedule for the following month, fitting in time to go visit his sister in rehab while also making sure he has Rosie's sitters on call, or times set up as far in advance as he can. He also looks into trying to find another therapist, though he plans to have both Sherlock and Mycroft look into their background given what happened with Eurus.

He takes a ten minutes break to grab at his third cup of coffee and then glances around the room, realizing he will need to tidy up and restock their provisions.

The third hour finds him making lists for chores, groceries and anything else he may need to grab for their often harrowing daily ordeals including more supplies for their first aid kit, fresh rosin for Sherlock's bow and a new round of ammo-

John stops then, glances to his coat and then down the hall to Sherlock's room. When they had gotten into the Rover the other day, Sherlock had set the gun on the dash. Upon their return home he had exited the car and left it, at which point John had snatched it up.

He figures the man had either done it on purpose to test John's resolve or had been so deep in thought he had forgotten it. Either way, John had dropped a pretty penny on it and wanted to know if the man had managed to remember.

He stands and crosses to his coat, shoving a hand into the pocket only to find it empty and he curses. Not because he is angry Sherlock took yet another gun from him, but because it had apparently been a test and John had failed….horribly.

He feels guilty and ashamed and promises himself he will pawn the thing off as soon as he gets it back.

' _You feel a bit childish now don't you? Suddenly Sherlock is setting all the rules, creating all the boundaries, taking your things away to make a point. It's funny...usually the only thing you take away from Sherlock is a few stale fags or a moldy experiment. He has to keep a gun away from you, remove your daughter from a dangerous situation, interesting how your punishments for him seem much easier to perform.'  
_  
"Please, shut up." he hisses as he brings one hand to his face and digs the other firmly into his hip.

' _I already told you I am not going away. You've wasted three hours on trying to make your life easier, how about you spare the last for Sherlock, eh, considering everything he has done for you?'_

"Yeah, alright, okay? I get it, I don't need more guilt to go on top of the self-loathing I am currently facing, thank you."

Mary doesn't say anything else and he is relieved when he can sit back down without her prattling in his ear.

"Okay, for Sherlock, sort it out for Sherlock...Just...get the hell on with it." and he stares at the screen, not sure how he is supposed to sort this out via his laptop.

 _'Step away from the notes darling, think about it, what would Sherlock do if he wanted answers?'_ and this time he doesn't feel angry at Mary's snide voice for his eyes land on his list of things to do and suddenly a thought occurs to him.

"Sherlock...would...he would…" and the man instantly stands, shuts his computer and grabs his coat. He throws it on hastily as he looks for a piece of paper and a pen.

He scribbles out a sloppy sentence and then makes to leave when suddenly he stops, looks back to the paper, _'Awe, go on love, you know you want to.'_ Mary says teasingly and John smirks as he returns to the paper, adds a small blurb and then heads out the flat.

PAGEBREAK

John stands outside the door to the "Visitors room", his hands clenching and opening at his sides as the smell of sterile halls make his head spin. His heart is beating quickly but he isn't going to walk away, no matter how reluctant he is to start a spiral down into such dangerous waters.

Taking the handle he opens the door and steps in to find his sister sitting in the window seat, looking out onto the grounds as he takes in the rather luxurious room.

Her face turns to him, a smile coming to her lips and eyes lighting up, and he stops when he sees such a greeting from her.

"Harry?" he asks softly in confusion and she stands and approaches him.

"Hello, John." she says softly and he finds himself on the receiving end of a hug, one which he takes a moment to return but then does return with much candor.

"Oh, Harry, look at you. Haven't seen you smile like that in ages." he says happily, relief flooding him that this isn't going to be the type of visit which ends in them yelling.

"Haven't felt this good in ages. This place, oh this place John. It's wonderful, the people are so nice and Sarah is just-"

"Whose Sarah?" he asks with a smirk.

"It's not what you think." she says giving him a friendly glance, "She is my therapist." and Harry pulls away, her hands coming to clasp before her as she moves back towards the seat of the window.

"Come on, I want to show you something." and John still knows his hands are fisting on and off, feels his smile slide away as he watches her sit. His eyes concerned about how detrimental this conversation could be to Harry's healing.

"Come on John, hurry, before she is gone." and Harry makes a come here motion with her hand and John pops on another smile as he moves over to see her and sits down. He pulls a leg up to fold in front of him on the seat, matching her pose to give the best amount of room.

"Look, see the woman, just there?" and her thin finger presses to the window and her brown eyes lock onto a red-headed woman who is standing under a tree.

 _She is beautiful,_ John thinks to himself, n _ice curves, a little shorter and healthy looking.  
_  
"Who is she?" he inquires.

"That is Hanna. She...well she knows all about you." Harry laughs softly as she winks.

John chuckles at this and shakes his head, "Been talking me up a bit, have you?"

"Loads. She wants to meet you, if I had known you were coming so soon I would have arranged it but- John, what is it?" she inquires as the smirk leaves his face.

He realizes how nervous he is but he thinks this is what he needs, someone to confide in that isn't part of the motley crew of 221 B.

"I...uh...may start seeing someone actually...soon...if it works out."

Harry's eyes grow excited and she pats his knee quickly, "Oh! What's her name?"

"Yeah, uh...about that...it's not a she..." and he trails off as he looks at her and Harry looks stunned at this and then says in one swift breath, "Sherlock."

John doesn't bother to ask how she knows, but he gives one single subtle nod and then focuses on how he feels about admitting it to someone, even someone as close to him as his sister. He doesn't feel anything in particular, no shame or humiliation, no discomfort at the knowledge that he has admitted to being interested in another man.

"That's great! I mean, I didn't think you were-"

"I'm not... well...at least... I don't think I am."

Her face grows confused and he chuckles, "Yeah, that's about how I feel." he says softly, "In fact, probably more so than you. Honestly," he says with a sigh, "I am trapped Harry, I don't know what to do. I...I am in love with a man...but I have never...I've never had these feelings for another man before so...considering you're..." and he looks at her as he chews on the inside of his cheek, "Ga-"

"A lesbian, John." she says with a smirk, "Yeah, that, thought you might, you know have some advice...for a very confused...and slightly terrified big brother... might be your only chance to give me a swift kick."

She laughs at that and nods, her face so care free and he smiles at her with such satisfaction to see her so happy.

"Well, wow, giving me a tough one to tackle my first time as the resident advice giver."

"Yeah. Yeah, I know, but...I didn't have anyone I could trust...could turn to really. Normally if I have a problem I just...swallow it...or talk to Sherlock."

Harry nods at this bit of information and she gives a contented sigh, "I am really happy you came to me, John. Unfortunately the only advice I have to give is, go for it."

John stares at her a minute and then allows a breathy laugh to escape him, "Wow, that's...useful...haven't thought of that." and his sarcasm is playful if not a bit annoyed.

"No, I mean it. You can go back and forth in your head for years about something that life changing...or you can save yourself the time and just try it. If you don't like it, at least you will know and you can make an informed decision. You can't make one without knowing, John. You know that, you're a doctor. Maybe start small, try a kiss. That can usually tell someone if they are...you...I mean, that's how I knew."

John sits up at this, the first bit of good advice he has received since this crazy mess started.

"Remember Stacy Buster?"

John thinks a moment and then says, "Yeeeah, she was the sappy sad one, right?"

"No, that was June, Stacy was the nerdy goth one."

"Oh yeah, with the-" and he points to his nose, "Yeah the bull ring." Harry confirms.

"Wow, she was the first girl you kissed, that was what, you were...nineteen?"

She nods, "I knew Stacy wasn't going to be my future, but when I kissed her for the first time, I knew that I was more inclined towards woman. There was a spark. I am not saying kissing Sherlock will suddenly make you want to wear a dress-"

"Now, _that_ , would be stereotyping." John says with a small smirk.

"I'm a lesbian, I'm entitled." Harry says with a bemused look.

"Point." John concedes briskly 

"You might only have these feelings for Sherlock specifically. I mean look at all you've been through. Maybe he is just...maybe you two are just meant to be...or...maybe the chemistry is just right...whatever the reason...if you love him...labels like gay and straight don't matter. And what you do in the bedroom, or what you don't do in the bedroom...doesn't matter. But I think...just from knowing you as I do..."

He looks at her, waiting patiently for what she is about to say, "You engage John, it's what you do. You don't run and hide, you don't creep in the shadows...you engage...so the only way you are going to know...it's not by soul searching or asking me...you just have to...try it."

"I was afraid you would say that."

She laughs again, and it's music to John's ears, lifting his heart and making him glad he asked for Sherlock's help in treating her.

They pass some time in silence, just enjoying the quiet and looking out the window before John decides to press on, knowing that his feelings about Sherlock were not the only reason he came. 

"Harry." he says softly, "Sherlock...my issues about Sherlock were not the only reason I came." 

Her smile is still gently in place but she looks to him and he can see she knows but she asks anyway, "Why did you come? Normally you have to wait a few months before you can see me after we have a roe." 

John licks his lips and looks down, "Yeah, about that-" and he clears his throat, swallows carefully and says, "Harry...love...I need to...need to talk to you about...about Wayne." he says regretfully and he looks up at her to see how she takes this new development.

His sister is giving him a knowing face, something far more understanding than she has been able to do in the past and then her head nods just a little and she says, "Sarah has encouraged me to talk to you about it...I never felt like I could before...I mean...what with our promise to-"

"Never look back, Yeah I know, and you know I would never...never ask you to, to break with tradition but...something has happened...is happening to me, and I..." he feels his brain try to shut down this line of thought but he closes his eyes tight and says with determination, "I need your help, Harry. More than I have ever needed it before."

She looks at him with sharp eyes, the smile gone but her face and posture remain open, "I will...do everything I can, all you have to do...is talk to me."

John lets out a slow breath and nods, realizing that for the first time in his adult sister's life she is coherent, calm and somehow, unlike him, she has put her demons to rest.

PAGEBREAK

Sherlock presses himself up from the bed and glances at the clock, it reads two in the afternoon.

"Right on time." he murmurs sluggishly and at noticing John's empty spot glances to his bedroom door which is firmly shut. His heart clenches ever so slightly at the idea of being shut away but he knows it is an instinctual reaction and he shakes it off.

He stumbles from the bed, pulling the sheet with him and wrapping it about himself as he proceeds with his Wednesday morning ritual.

 _Coffee, stare at_ _ **John**_ _, search for cases and then talk to_ _ **John**_ _, possibly eat if there isn't a case and focus on_ _ **John.**_ _Maybe shower and dress then see what_ _ **John**_ _is doing and at some point finish the experiment you started last week, while you think of_ _ **John.**_ __

This routine, which had formed long before the affairs with Wayne and Harry, gave him a very solid schedule to follow, made his life feel consistent. Even while sometimes John was not in the flat upon his rise into the land of the living, the man always returned shortly and he could proceed with his daily duties.

Today, however, was not that day for as he strolled out into the kitchen he noticed a note on the table and glanced at it, hoping it was from John saying that he would be back shortly.

 _Sherlock, went to see Harry, got a lead on my case, be back at some point, don't wait up. Please wash the bedding and don't forget to shower, I prefer my sheets and my detectives clean. Love, John._

Sherlock reads the note multiple times, his eyes lingering on several different words, of which include, my case, my detectives and love, John.

He can tell the man is being smart, more than likely returning the favor for Sherlock's rather harsh erection joke. Still, he smiles only to have that smile turn quickly into a frown when he reads the note one more time.

 _ **WENT. TO. SEE. HARRY.**_ popping up before his eyes as if they are shots fired from a gun. Instantly he jerks towards his room, tripping on his sheet he lets it fall as he stumbles out of it and slams into his wardrobe.

"No, no, no NO!" He yells out angrily between clenched teeth, and then he freezes, turns and looks to his side of the bed, his phone sitting on the nightstand ready and waiting.

"Come on Mycroft, pick up." he says as he crosses to it, his heart racing and his mind frantically trying to work out a solution to the problem he has just come to find himself in.

PAGEBREAK

John stares at his sister and sighs, "Look, I need to ask you some things...things about Wayne...our time with him...things I might not remember."

"You remember everything." she teases and he lets out a soft chuckle, "Not everything, Harry. Most of it, but...there are things...I just...maybe having someone else's view on it might help me to clarify things...this won't...upset you...affect your recovery, will it?" he asks.

Harry hesitates, thinks about it as her eyes dart outside, and then she says with certainty, "Uhm, no. No, I think...I think I am pretty much...I've made peace, John. I want to help you do the same."

It surprises him and he counters with another question, "Really? You've been here..." and he thinks about it before he says suspiciously, "Threeee days, right? How could you do it so fast? Taken me years to just want to get out of bed in the morning."

Harry sighs and then gives him a friendly yet pointed look, "Everything that happened back then, all the horrible things Wayne did to us, to you... it's in the past. We can't change it, can't affect it in anyway. All we can do is try to move on and make a new life that is better. That is what I love about this place. It's so positive here, no one judges you...no one gives you "the look"." she says making air quotes with her fingers to emphasis her point.

And John nods in understanding, "Remember those looks? The ones that just make you feel absolutely worthless?"

"Yeah, yeah I remember them."

"We existed so long between the lines of terrified and angry we forgot what it was like to live happy and content."

"We didn't know what those words even meant, Harry. He took that from us. Took it from mum."

"Yes. But we can take it back. And that is what they are showing me, what Sarah is helping to show me. I drank because I didn't want to face my guilt, couldn't live with the truth of what I did to you, what I helped Wayne do to you."

John feels his heart speed up, blood drain from his face and he cocks his head and bites his bottom lip in confusion, "I'm sorry, Harry...what did you say... help Wayne do what to me?"

Harry suddenly goes still, swallows slowly as she leans back and looks at him with very careful eyes, "You...haven't talk to Sherlock...have you." she says with certainty, some strange realization coming to her as she pulls her hand away from his knee.

John watches her retract from him and his eyes grow dark as he looks up at her from under his brow, a very bad feeling snaking its way up his spine.

"Noooo, why would I ask Sherlock questions about our father...step-father...about Wayne?" and he knows his voice has dropped, feels something coiling in his stomach and Harry instantly seems to understand that she may have just revealed something she was not suppose to.

"Harry?" he ask slowly and her eyes dart from his face to her lap and she swallows again, her brow twisting up in worry, "Yes, John?" comes her soft reply.

"Has Sherlock come to visit you? Come to see you without me?" and there is a warning in his voice that the girl knows all too well, it's warning her not to lie to him.

She doesn't say anything at first and John swallows thickly, closing his eyes as he lets out a long even breath, "Harriot, I won't hurt you, I have NEVER raised a hand to you or ever done anything that would put you in harms way. I have only ever tried to help, so listen to me carefully when I say this to you, tell me the truth. Do not lie to me. Because if you do and I find out about it-"

"He came to see me." she says softly, and John instantly leans back, his head coming to rest on the wall behind, his bump from last night twinging painfully but he ignores it as dull eyes shift to look out the window.

"When." he says with an empty tone.

She looks up at him and sighs, "Every night since I've come. He climbs up to my window, brings me a few cigarettes, we talk-"

"About what?" John asks cutting her off and Harry takes a moment to readjust herself when she realizes John isn't going to yell her at.

"About what happened, what happened with Wayne...what's happening with you." She says and he hears in her voice how worried she is that he will snap at any second.

Despite the fact that John is furious at Sherlock for going behind his back to seek out his sister and gain her confidence, he also remembers what the man had told him just the day before.

 _You have to be stronger than your anger, John. You can have this conversation with your sister... there is no need to be-  
_  
 _'Jealous?_ ' and he locks onto the phantom reflection of Mary in the window and he closes his eyes, suddenly very tired.

"Harry..." he starts and his eyes open to look at her and he decides he will put his upset over what Sherlock has done on hold, long enough, to get through this conversation, "Harry, I swear to you, I won't get mad, I won't yell or throw things, I won't do anything to...cause you any more pain or suffering. Because I don't want that to be part of your life anymore, but I need you to tell me what you meant by that, what you said, about you helping Wayne, what did you mean?"

He can see how uncomfortable she grows but a sort of subtle determination comes into her eyes and she takes a breath as she prepares herself for the trouble that is sure to come.

"When dad...when Wayne, first started to...hurt us, I thought...I thought it was all just a bad dream. I mean, I never thought that would become our life...half the time I didn't know what to do, how to handle it, I may decisions based on fear...on self-preservation-" she trails off and he can see her struggle with how to word what she wants to say.

"Just say it, Harry. I am going to find out one way or another and I have a feeling I would rather hear it from you than from..." and he can't say the man's name right now, so he just rolls his lips together, shakes his head and motions for her to go on.

"Alright, do you remember the first time he ever tried to...to...assault me?" she asks and John nods, forcing the memories away so he can focus on her and not see them swim through his mind's eye.

"You came home just as he was about to...I was wearing the wretched skirt...the one for school...that bloody awful uniform..." and she looks down now, her eyes fading back to the memories.

"Keep going." John murmurs as he watches her carefully.

"Well, it wasn't what it seemed." she says and John finally raises his head from the wall and his heart skips a beat while that coiling nasty feeling in his stomach intensifies.

"How could it have been anything else?" John asks.

"Well, he knew...he knew you were coming home John... he...grabbed me and told me to struggle against him, told me if I didn't he would b-break my fingers."

Suddenly John hears a ringing in his ears as his fingers start to go numb, he swallows and his eyes grow wide as his suspicions about Wayne's true intentions are slowly being confirmed.

"He scared me into acting like...acting like he was doing something to me that he wasn't so that when you walked in the door..." and a lone tear rolls down from her eye.

"Wayne didn't just let you take my place...he wasn't allowing you to save me from anything, he wasn't being kinder by spearing me and taking you instead...it's what he wanted the whole time...you...are what he wanted the whole time. I was...I was his tool to get you to comply. If you hadn't been at the house, if it had just been me...he wouldn't have ever..." and she brings a hand to her face and takes a deep breath to calm herself as the spit at the corners of her mouth builds.

"How many times did he-" John whispers out, his mind starting to run back through every encounter he ever had with Wayne. Trying to look and see if he could notice it, anything, out of the ordinary that would support Harry's claim.

"John, you don't understand..." she whispers, more tears gushing from her eyes.

"How many times, Harry!" He groans out angrily and Harry reluctantly swallows and says, "Every time."

He shoves himself up from the seat he is in, stumbling and having to catch himself on the table. Harry rushes over to help but he holds up a finger at her and shakes his head, "No! Do not...don't come near me. I need a moment, you aren't the only one working on things, alright?" she nods quickly and he manages to keep the bile down long enough to ask her, "What about that night, the year before we left for good...he took you into the bedroom, locked me out-"

"John." she starts to cry in earnest and he feels the anger ticking down like a clock in the back of his mind, hissing happily as it gets ready to escape.

"YOU RAN OUT OF THE ROOM NAKED AND COVERED IN BRUISES...Jesus...your thighs...I remember your thighs were bruised."

"W-when he shut the door...he squeezed my arms, wrists and thighs...I was so small John...so thin, it was easy to-"

"And then, what, he just let you run out? Told you to be scared or he would what? Beat you?"

"T-that time he threatened to...to hurt mum...cut her break lines...if she died John I would have blamed myself...I couldn't let him-"

"He was lying!" John finally yells, though it is less aggressive than is his usual.

"I was thirteen! I didn't know any better!" she suddenly yells back.

John feels the bile try to rise again and he swallows it back, "No." he tells it out loud and then stands resolute, "So he told you to run out the door, covered in bruises... naked...or he would hurt mum."

"Yes. Do you remember, I opened the door, you had been outside banging on it...I ran out, you grabbed me and Wayne grabbed both of us... do you remember what he said-"

John hears the man's voice as if he is standing right next to him," _You want to spare your sister, Johnny Boy? Then why don't you just go and climb up on that bed. Show me just how dedicated you are to keeping her safe and sound."  
_  
"It was all a lie John, all an elaborate plan to get closer to you..."

"Why?" John snaps as he shoves away from the table in the center of the room and a chair tips backwards and smacks the ground.

"B-because John, in his own sick twisted way...he loved you."

John outright refuses to hear that, stomping his foot on the ground and yelling angrily, "No! A man like that is not capable of love, show me one single thing he did that could be any indication of a soul...one thing...give me one thing to prove that he was after me and not you!"

Harry sighs, "He sang to you...after-"

John stares at her dumbstruck before asking sharply, "What?"

His sister is about to speak when suddenly the door opens and Sherlock, Mycroft and two large male nurses walked in. John swings around and suddenly yells at the top of his lungs, "YOU!"

He takes a step towards the man but is stopped by the feel of small thin hands on his chest, "No! No Johnny! Wait! Don't you...don't you want to hear about the song?" and his eyes stare at Sherlock with such a level of contempt the man in question ducks down a little, his face falling from worry and concern to unresponsive entirely as he realizes he is too late.

"Way to late, mate." John says darkly and he goes to walk forward again but Harry presses against him, "John! The song! Do you want me to answer your questions or not!" and he looks down at her as she looks up at him, her eyes red rimmed and puffy, her lips trembling.

"Alright, alright fine. I want to hear the end of the story, but you, you stay right there, Sherlock. I am not done with you." and John looks back to his sister, "What is the end of it Harry, tell me now. Because I remember everything, as if it happened yesterday, but I don't remember any song."

"You wouldn't...after he was done...you always blacked out...but I would wait outside the bedroom...I would wait to help you into the...s-shower...help you get clean. Don't you remember, you always washed yourself so hard, I had to stop you once...you nearly rubbed yourself raw."

The hazy image of him in the tub and Harriet cleaning him flashes quickly in his mind and he stumbles back, "W-what?"

"I would sit outside, waiting for it to be over...so I could take care of you...so I could help you...and I would hear him singing to you while you...while you were under."

Something faint echoes up from the back of his mind, a sound he doesn't recognize...or maybe he does.

"H-he was deluded John, insane...he thought...he thought you wanted...because you always fought so hard to take my place...the place I never even really had...he told himself a lie because it is what he wanted. Just you and him...together... because he...he lov-"

"Shut up!" John yells suddenly and he shakes his head as everything he was so sure he remembered readjusts itself in his mind. Suddenly he doesn't ever actually recall what happened after Wayne was done with him, only that he would seek out Harry...he never recalls seeing the brute assault her...just grabbing her...touching her tentatively.

His breathing increases and he looks at everyone in the room, sees Sherlock start to move towards him as the ceiling seemingly meets the floor and his knees feel like they are gone and the world tilts on it's axis and then blackness claims him.

PAGEBREAK

 **Gently take the ship to shore, tell the sailors she's no more. And when the white bird starts to sing, you know you've reached your home.  
**  
 _He groans as he feels his body aching, everything hurts, his mind is foggy but he feels a soft bed under him and the air is cooling his burning skin. The smell is too much, cigarettes and alcohol and another smell he doesn't want to think about.  
_  
 **Tie the ropes up tight now boys, swig the swill to keep you well. Don't drink the foreign water boys, inside the fevers dwell.**

 _He shifts a little, suddenly lets out a whine as he realizes his stomach, back and groin muscles hurt. He is too hot, covered in sweat, he just wants to cool off, and that voice is right next to his ear, singing softly to him and he feels his skin crawl.  
_  
 **Found a maiden in the town, took her up and stripped her down. Made a lover of that gown, and had a baby boy.  
**  
 _He feels a hand come to his back and rub soothing circles but he pushes it away, doesn't want to be touched right now, doesn't want anything near him and he lets out another groan and then a soft sob as his stomach hurts worse._

 _"Shh, just relax Johnny boy, sleep it off. Listen to the song and just, sleep." a voice says and he lays still as fear runs down his spine and he starts to remember where he is, what happened, vomit flavoring his throat and tongue and he tries to hold it down._

 **Well that young boy grew fast and big, the biggest one in town. And when he went to sail away he left behind his gown.**

 _He whines again, unable to stop the disgusting feeling rising up inside of him, not wanting to think of what just happened. The only solace is knowing it didn't happen to Harry. She was safe, far away from here or at the very least locked in her room. It would be a few days before he tried anything again, but John would be long gone by then, and he would take Harry with him._

 **And while the boy, now a man, was gone away at sea. A demon came to his home town and took his bride to be.**

 _He tries to push up from the bed, tries to move away but his body hurts, everything hurts and his stomach wants to clench and twist and then suddenly arms take him up, pull him towards the heat that is unbearable._

 _"No, please..." he moans as he is settled down closer to the monster, this demon of a man._

 _"Shh, shh shh, just relax Johnny boy. It's over, it's done. Just move on, never look back. Just, lay here and relax with me and get some sleep."_

 _He starts to fight, even as his body protests and the grip on him tightens and he starts to yell, that voice still soothingly soft as he is held to the burning heat of the demon._

 **And with her gone to the demon's hand, he lives his life as sea, forever mourning and calling out , where is my bride to be.**

PAGEBREAK

John's eyes open slowly to see he is in his own room at Baker street, the flat below deathly quiet, and the fading light of the early evening creeping in. He stares at the ceiling for a while, processing the dream he just had...the memory he just recalled and something inside him suddenly settles.

He breathes out, his mind calm as he thinks about what happened earlier in the day.

 _'Well, I never thought the day would come.'_ and John sits up slowly, his ears ringing a little and his head giving a light ache as he looks to Rosie's crib, but he doesn't see Mary. He sees himself.

The boy isn't young, maybe between fifteen and seventeen, looking out at him from under shaggy blond hair, he is short for his age, far too thin given how much he eats and John smirks, "You."

 _"You."_ The boy echoes back with a cocky smirk.

They stare at each other a moment before John finds that he has to ask, "Why Mary?" and the young John walks over and plops down onto the bed, _"Well, you listen to her don't you...dead or alive...she always got you where you needed to go. Figured if I tried Sherlock it might be a bit much...having two of him screaming in your head.'  
_  
"Good on ya there." John says, his eyes bulging at the very thought of it.

They sit in companionable silence for awhile, John studying the young man he once was versus who he is now, before he finally breaks the silence and asks, "So, are we done? Am I done, yah know, torturing myself?"

The boy looks at him and smiles, " _That all depends, mate."_

"On what?" John asks softly, his eyes noticing that young John has bruises around his wrists and a few around his throat.

 _"On if you have made peace with it, you remember it all now. Everything, I mean...you aren't like Sherlock, you didn't repress it, you just forgot. The struggles you've been having...the anger and confusion over Sherlock...you were just trying to remember...warn yourself about what you've been through...kind of like a safety mechanism."  
_  
"A kill switch?" John offers his younger self, trying to understand these strange metaphors and psychological traumas that have surrounded him over the last week.

 _"More like a life preserver. You just needed to get your head above the water...so you wouldn't drown."_

John nods at this, beginning to make sense of it, "And these?" and he points to the boy's wrists and throat, doesn't get what they are meant to represent, _"Wayne will always be there John. He's like a scar that never quite fades...or a bruise that you can't see anymore but can still feel. It's always going to bother you, you know it will because everything you've found out...it suddenly makes you the victim and not the hero. Victims...they don't get any of the glory...just the pity. You hate pity."  
_  
"Oh God, I really do." he agrees with a frustrated sigh as he pulls the blankets back and joins his younger self on the edge of the bed, "And...Sherlock?" he asks and the teenager looks up at him, gives a small smirk.

 _"Well, this one time...you're sister was actually right. You just have to try it and see, you won't know unless-"_

"Unless I engage...uh-huh...so everyone seems to think."

 _"It's who you are John. Stop pretending you're anything else. It's what Sherlock likes about you, what most people like about you. You can follow if need be...or...you can lead. You versatility is your strength, your heart is both a gift and a curse and you're aim-"  
_  
"No problems there." John smirks as he realizes he is stroking his own ego and for some reason is really enjoying it.

"Bull's eye every time. You never miss." young John says as he fires an imaginary gun at the wall and John chuckles, letting out a sigh as he takes one last look at the young man next to him, sees his innocents, his subconscious pushing him to keep going no matter how bad it gets, no matter how much he wants to quit.

 _"So, John, I guess the final decision you need to make... Is what type of closure do you need? What target do you need to hit?"_ and John slowly looks away as he thinks for a moment about what he wants his future to hold in store for him.

PAGEBREAK

When he walks downstairs he hears the soft conversation of Sherlock and Mycroft, bits and pieces flying to his ears.

"This is serious Sherlock, John is losing his grip. He needs to be seen by a professional."

"No, he isn't leaving, he is staying with me! I can fix this, I can help him if you would just-"

"Ever the martyr, lest you forget it is no longer just you and him, think of young Rosie...she will be back in a few days...you can't both help John and protect the child."

"I most certainly can, don't use my daughter as leverage-"

" _Your_ daughter? I do believe she is Dr. Watson's daughter."

Sherlock falls silent at the slip and John clears his throat as he leans in the doorway, his arms crossed and both men snap their heads in his direction, "John-" Sherlock starts and John runs his tongue across his teeth as he looks at the two, realizing for the first time, just how lucky he really is.

"Rosie is Sherlock's daughter just as much as she is mine, Mycroft. Lord knows, the man does more to take care of her than I do."

"You've been...unwell-" Sherlock starts but John is quick to nip that in the bud.

"No, Sherlock. Don't defend me. I've been a rubbish father and an awful friend...but...yeah, I am good. Much better now. See things...clearly."

The two stare at him, Sherlock with a very well hidden hope and Mycroft with suspicion.

"Alright, yeah, I'm not completely better. Going to take a bit but, uh, I think I figured out everything I need to know...so...if you'll excuse us Mycroft, I need to speak to Sherlock alone a minute."

Mycroft seems reluctant to leave Sherlock alone with him but John keeps his temper in check and motions to the stairs behind him with a thumb over his shoulder, "Don't make me ask again, I promise, no random breakdowns, blackouts or rage induced bad life choices. I'm quite over the drama of it, so if you could just..." and John makes a face stressing his point and the British Government inclines his head and slowly walks past him.

John stops him as he hits the top step, "Actually, could you just wait outside, I have a sneaking suspicion we are going to need your clearance for this next bit." Mycroft gives him a very confused look before he nods again and descends the steps.

John slowly shuts the door and then waits a moment, looking at Sherlock, the man tense as he stares back.

John scratches at the corner of his mouth in thought as he selects his next words carefully, "Thank you." he says, his arms moving to rest behind his back as he looks at the tall man before him, "For...everything. Being here, being my friend...not letting me...go crazy."

Sherlock nods and gives a gentle smirk, "No worries, I figured it would only take a few choice breakdowns for you to come back to me. I know how much you hate to disappoint."

John lets out a soft chuckle as he looks at the ceiling, clearing his throat as he says with conviction, "I think I only need one more thing, Sherlock, if you can manage, and I will be right as rain."

"Anything." Sherlock says with surety.

John knows his friend his going to be reluctant but he also knows that Sherlock's offer of anything is sincere so he says quickly, "I need to see him, Sherlock. One last time, I've got to see him...so I can...move on. I need you...to take me to hell."

"What makes you so sure he is there?" Sherlock asks, his eyes giving a clever and somewhat excited look at his friend.

"The first day after...after Wayne came, when I asked you where he was sent, you responded by asking me a question."

"Where does one usually send their demons." Sherlock confirms, something akin to pride lining his soft deep voice.

"You send them to Hell." John confirms, "And as I have been told, only your brother has a road map of hell."

Sherlock's smile fills his face, his eyes shining with a mixture of admiration and, to John's surprise, lust, "Well look at that, my Boswell is learning."

PAGEBREAK

The helicopter sets them down on the beach of Sherrinford, the chopper ringing loud in John's ears as he jumps from the thing, with Sherlock hot on his heels.

They make their way inside, feelings of anxiety and nausea ruminating as they approach the entry. It isn't from their earlier experiences on this island, no, John's fears are from the fact that he is about to face his demons, and if he doesn't win here, he never will.

It takes them a good thirty minutes to make it through the safety protocols that Mycroft has implemented since their last visit. Though Sherlock has come and gone from here in the last few months to see his sister, he never once spoke about the fact there is a strip search that is fully enforced, despite the fact that Sherlock is now well known and Mycroft's brother.

"Bet they don't make Myke do this." John protests as he slides his pants back up, pressing a foot into a shoe as he does.

"Why would they, no one wants to see Mycroft naked." and John let's out a high pitched laugh at Sherlock's joke, feeling slightly better that the man has elected to come with him.

"Are you going to see your sister after?" John inquires, pulling his shirt down over his head and glancing to his friend.

Sherlock is busy buttoning his shirt as he nods, "Oh, might as well, though you will have to wait in the hall. Special clearance only when dealing with such a demon as she."

"No worries, I am most definitely not in a hurry to see the East Wind any time soon."

John stops when he feels a hand touch his shoulder, "And how do you feel about seeing the man who stole away your childhood?"

John looks over his shoulder at Sherlock, finding he can read the man's face better every time he looks and right now the concern is gushing forth from those blue eyes, though he is quite certain anyone else would only see a hard stare.

John smirks at him, "Well, if you think about it, I got most of it back...I mean, running around London, solving crimes with you like the Hardy Boys, that's about as childish as you can get."

Sherlock's deep chuckle emanates down into John's chest and just a little more of his fear is chipped away.

PAGEBREAK

"We can always come back, John. It doesn't have to be today." Sherlock ensures, the heat from his chest pressing into John's back.

"With the way that security guard was eyeing us while we stripped, no way in hell. No, I am going to do this now, and then I am going to leave...and this time... I am really never going to look back."

Sherlock nods and John sighs, "Okay, let's get this over with."

Sherlock grabs the handle of the door and pushes it open, allowing John to enter before him and he follows in behind.

Sitting at the table in the middle of the room, sits Wayne, old and feeble, yet his body still exudes power, his large lean frame and strong shoulders stand out as if he is still the same young man that John remembers so clearly.

"Johnny Boy... you came." the man says in disbelief and John waits before he approaches the table, looks back to Sherlock and then to the cameras in the corners of the ceiling, waiting several seconds before the little red light shuts off.

"Are you sure, Sherlock? I am fine, if you want to step out." John offers but Sherlock simply shakes his head and says, "I would give you privacy, but this was part of the deal. Someone with you at all times while you are speaking with him."

John nods his understanding and turns to look at the man who had tortured him for so many years of his youth. He tries to keep his hands from clenching, feels the anger, hurt and pain swell up inside of him but he simply lets it flow, let's it spread out through his body and then feels it dissipate slowly.

"Finally got the temper under control I see." Wayne says softly, his cuffed hands moving from under the table to rest on top.

"So it seems, no thanks to you." John says and he finally takes a step towards the table, pulling the chair out and sitting down stiffly.

"It's good to see you, under the circumstances. Figured the last time was it-"

"It would have been, if you hadn't tried to drive me completely insane." John says quickly, but he keeps his voice even, his emotions tightly controlled.

"I just wanted you to remember. Couldn't think of any other way. Once I was released...I knew you'd never come to me willingly. I had to make an impression, something that would set you off and force you to remember...remember our time together... you do remember now, don't you?" Wayne asks hopefully.

John stares at him, brings his fists to the table and then speaks out tightly, "Gently take the ship to shore, tell the sailors she's no more- is that it? Is that what you wanted me to remember?"

Wayne nods and smiles as he says softly, "And when the white bird starts to sing, you know you've reached your home. I sang it to you every time after we were together. It seemed to sooth you, allowed you to relax and sleep."

"You raped me." John says bluntly, "Repeatedly."

Wayne's eyes grow wide, his lips parting as he shakes his head, "What? No, no we were-"

"We were nothing but a figment of your twisted and brutalized imagination. What you did to me...what you made Harry do so that I would willing come to you...allow you to do..it wasn't right Wayne, it wasn't bloody natural. You abused her to get to me, and assaulted me because-"

"I loved you...I still do. From the moment your mum brought me over...when I saw you...I just...couldn't help myself. You were such a kind boy, so caring and friendly...so welcoming. I thought we had a connection...remember I took you fishing...we stayed up real late...I gave you your first beer."

"Why couldn't that be it? Why couldn't you just be my friend. Why did you have to go the extra mile...why did you start in the first place? I know, I remember some of the good times before… it didn't have to end this way."

Wayne leans forward desperately, "I tried, I tried to go about it the right way, tries to get you to tell me...or show me...if you were interested but you never said a word….I thought you were embarrassed-"

"I was fifteen when this mess started, when you started abusing Harry to get to me, what? It just pop in your head one day to use my sister as leverage to get into my pants?"

Wayne doesn't hesitate to explain, his hands gripping together tightly, "I thought, I thought if I could just show you...show you how good I could make you feel...but after the first time you just...shut down...I tried again and you screamed at me, hit me… I was upset, hurt...I thought you were just being difficult, needed an excuse to justify your actions...Harry was that excuse."

"You over thought it. No meant no, there wasn't ever any hidden passions, no fear of discovery or need for justification. I never wanted it, or you….it was all in your head."

Wayne sits back, a look of denial etching it's way across his face, "I don't believe that Johnny Boy, not for one second. You enjoyed it, you wanted to be with me, you were just too scared. I made it easier by doing what I did to Harry, for you...for both of us."

John lets out a slow even breath through his nose as he looks at the man before him, silver hair long and wavy but no curls to speak of, his skin healthy but showing his age with a tan. The wrinkles in his forehead and around his mouth visible but only just since his face isn't animated as it was previously at the flat. 

His dark eyes dart to the man's hands, the ones that touched him in ways he never wants to remember but knows he can never forget, large and thick, nothing like Sherlock's long slender musicians fingers.

"That was the problem." John says softly, the final piece of the puzzle falling into place, and John feels the sudden thrill of solving a case, his case, nearly on his own.

"What?" Wayne asks and John suddenly stands, turning to Sherlock, "Displacement." John whispers, thinking back to Sally Donovan and her dislike of Sherlock.

"Full, circle." Sherlock answers with a rather gentle smirk and John smiles back, "How long have you known?"

"A bit, but I knew you would need to banish your demons on your own, cannot even _begin_ to tell you how sexually frustrated I have been waiting for you to come off it." Sherlock says teasingly, his eyes sparkling as he winks at him.

John slowly walks up to Sherlock and he places a hand on the man's cheek, craning up to graze their lips together, Sherlock taking in a small pant of air.

Before anything happens they hear a shuffle and they both look over to see Wayne standing up and staring between the two with wide terror filled eyes.

John realizes he isn't done and slowly leans away to look at Sherlock, "Sorry, mate, the game isn't over." he whispers and Sherlock gives a gentle nod of understanding.

The blonde turns back to the man who looks nearly heartbroken as John slowly approaches, "It's time to sing our song Wayne, and then... we say good-bye."

"Johnny-" he starts with trembling lips and shaking hands, but John has no mercy for this sick individual, his kind heart having dried up long ago where Wayne is concerned.

"Tie the ropes up tight now boys, swig the swill to keep you well. Don't drink the foreign water boys, inside the fevers dwell."

Wayne sinks back down into his chair, his eyes locked onto John as he speaks, "Found a maiden in the town, took her up and stripped her down. Made a lover of that gown, and had a baby boy."

John leans forward, slamming his hands down on the table in front of Wayne and says louder, "Well that young boy grew fast and big, the biggest one in town. And when he went to sail away he left behind his gown."

A tear rolls down Wayne's face, his hands reaching for John but the blonde pulls back, motions for Sherlock to stop the advance he has started and then crosses his arms over his chest, "Finish it Wayne. Finish the song with me."and John's hard eyes narrow. 

Wayne looks down, lets out a sob and John once again leans forward and yells, "FINISH THE SONG!" 

Wayne sniffs and lets out a sigh, "And while the boy, now a man, was gone away at sea. A demon came to his home town and took his bride-to-be."

Wayne's eye scanning to Sherlock and he frowns rather evilly. 

John stands then, swipes his nose with a hand and sniffs as he says drily and with sharp venom, "And with her gone to the demon's hand, he lives his life as sea, forever mourning he calls out , where is my bride-to-be." 

"John-" Wayne says softly, looking up at him through his tears, "I only ever loved you." 

John grits his teeth and points a finger at him, "You tortured me, Wayne. You ruined me. You took everything away from me. Now it's time I take it back." he hisses and then he shakes his head, "Come on Sherlock, let's go home." and John walks away, Sherlock smirking as he opens the door again and John steps through, both men easily ignoring the sobs screaming out from the room they just left.

PAGEBREAK

John lays Rosie down in her crib, the girl rolling around a bit and trying to stand up before John lays her back down and gently strokes her face.

Sherlock plays a soft lullaby on his violin and after a few minutes the little one falls fast asleep. 

Looking down at her from above John sighs happily, "God, never thought it'd be so good to have the loudest member of our family back." he says endearingly, both men well aware of how much John truly missed her. 

"She is where she is supposed to be, and so are you, now." Sherlock says, his hand coming to rest next to John's on the crib rail and the blonde subtly moves his pinky to rest on Sherlock's hand, the detective looking up at him in mild surprise if not complete confusion. 

"John, I have been meaning to speak to you. In fact, I have tried several times to start a conversation on-" 

"Sherlock," John starts. 

"Yes?" the taller man asks. 

"Shut up, now? We are having a moment." John says nodding to his daughters sleeping form and the man looks away, "Right." he rolls his lips together and waits patiently. 

John feels it coming though and counts backwards from three before he hears Sherlock say in a rather annoyed voice, "It's just, I so dislike not knowing and you've been very vague with your-" John turns and places a small kiss on the man's neck, pulling away quickly and looking up at him from under his brow, his lips pursing together and his foot taping as he waits for Sherlock to take the hint, "Got your answer?" he asks in a low annoyed voice. 

"Yup." Sherlock says popping the P and then walking past him and out the door. John watches him go before he looks back to his daughter and reaches in a hand, a finger gently stroking her cheek and he smiles. 

"I swear to you, no matter what happens, I will be a better father to you than I ever thought possible. I promise, I will get better at this, you will be happy. And if you aren't, Sherlock will kick my arse." 

Giving her one last look he leaves her room and shuts the door behind him, descending the steps with baby monitor in hand. 

He enters the sitting room to find Sherlock in his chair, gently pulling the bow of his violin across the strings, a single silver note rippling gently into the air and his blue eyes open as he looks at John curiously, "So, John, the crisis has been averted, your daughter is back and your demons are now slain, whatever shall we do now?" 

John stares at him a moment, looking the man up and down before he glances over his shoulder at the door to Sherlock's bedroom. He glances back to Sherlock and gives a very sly look and turns to start walking down the hall. 

He chances a peek behind him to see Sherlock staring wide eyed, his lips parted softly as he watches John's slow stride towards the room. 

When Sherlock abruptly stands, his instrument and bow tumbling to the floor, John takes off into the room, hearing Sherlock's quick feet rushing behind him.

PAGEBREAK 

John's shirt is being ripped off over his head, his own hands work on Sherlock's buttons but give up on it to yank the shirt open, the sound of the little plastic rounds raining down across the floor causing them to laugh slightly.

Sherlock reaches a hand under himself to undo his belt and then press his pants down quickly. 

"Top or bottom, John?" he asks in a deep breathy voice as he places his forehead on John's the smaller man caught underneath him. 

"I've no clue, what do you suggest?" John asks, his fingers running through the man's curls and Sherlock shutters and moans before he presses his face down and gently bites John's shoulder.  
"Jeeeeesus!" John gasps and his hand runs down to Sherlock's face and he pulls the man away from the tender area, "Listen, Sherlock, listen-" and the man stills long enough to look at him. 

"We are going to need to coordinate...have you ever...done this? Man, woman...anyone?" John pants and Sherlock looks down as this, his hand now skimming up John's exposed side and John hums desperately, his voice cracking as he does and his eyes closing so he can focus on the touch.  
"Not with a man." Sherlock says softly and his mouth tries to return to John's shoulder but John latches a hand into his hair and he looks at Sherlock in the eye, "Hang on, with who then?" 

Sherlock stares at him, not saying a word and John lets out an unbelievable sigh, "Oh my god." 

"What?" Sherlock asks, his brow furrowed in confusion. 

"The woman? You had sex with Adler?" 

"What!? No!" Sherlock says with a face akin to horror, "Who then, Jenine?"

"Unlikely." Sherlock snorts with a tilt of his head and a smirk. 

John stares another moment and then asks quickly, "Who then!?" 

Sherlock let's out a sigh and hangs his head, "Molly." 

"Molly?" 

"Molly Hooper." and he glances up at John who stares a moment before he bursts into laughter and Sherlock's lips roll together to hide a smirk. 

"So _that's_ why you said there wasn't a need to speak with her." 

"Yup." Sherlock says as he aims one more time for John's shoulder, "Oh! No, first you have to tell me...how was it?" 

"How was what?" 

"Sex." 

"Sex?" 

"Yes! Sex with Molly Hooper, you great stupid lump!" 

Sherlock seems to think about it, his eyes rolling up into his hairline before he says with a nod, "Surprisingly okay, very knowledgeable, one might say it was like rolling around with a tigress." 

"I knew it. I knew it! God, it's always the quiet ones. Oh, I should have taken her when I had the chance." He says. 

"What chance? You never had a chance." Sherlock says haughtily. 

"I did." 

"When?" 

"Well she wasn't going to wait around for you forever was she, mate." 

"Apparently not, after our little tumble she said she just wants to be friends, apparently I was that bad." Sherlock says and then furrows his brow as he thinks about what he just said. 

John bursts into laughter and Sherlock follows suit, neither able to contain themselves at the idea of it.

John manages to calm down first and sees that Sherlock is smiling his genuine smile, the one he hides from most of the world and suddenly John leans up on his elbows and places his lips on Sherlock's. 

The man above stills and for several seconds there is no sound, just the gently touching of their lips, mouths opening to each other and tongues exploring. 

When John pulls back they look away from each other a moment before they look back, Sherlock's face filled with an endearing and understand smile, John's eyes wide and his mouth parted,

"Yeah-" John says before he looks away again and clears his throat, thought Sherlock continues to stare before he says quickly, "So, you first, me next?" he asks. 

"Yeah, Alright." John says and then they are wrapped up together again, lips meeting, bodies molding and groans ringing through the room.

PAGEBREAK 

One of the reasons John was so adamant about refusing to be with Sherlock is because of the trauma he suffered at the hands of Wayne.

Years of abuse made him weary of ever being intimate with a man in that way. 

Another part of him knew, he wasn't really gay, no, this burning desire for Sherlock was unique to the man currently on top of him. They had agreed John would go first, then Sherlock would go but right now, considering how he was feeling John was fine to do this several more times before taking his turn.

He was on his back, Sherlock over him, those long fingers and wide palms skimming up his sides, gently holding his hips or thigh as he pressed his body against him. Their lips had barely parted since this started, and the time it had taken to get to this point where Sherlock was so deeply rooted inside him had been rough.

John needs time to adjust, to control his anxiety as on occasion memories surface, ones he'd rather not think about while being intimate with Sherlock.

But John was not a coward, he does not run away from things, he engages them head on, so to, did he engage this.

The complete surrender to Sherlock's delicate touches, his gentle lips and nibbling teeth, the sounds, tastes and smells of the man pushing harshly away any latent memories he has of his time with Wayne.

"A little deep-deeper Sherlock, a little...ohmygod." John moans and he hears Sherlock hum as he continues to gently pump his hips and run his hands all over. John knows that this is a much different experience than what he has been through before.

"Oh, my neck, hold my neck..." and Sherlock's hand slides up his body to cup his neck so that he can press John closer, his mouth sucking on the area just under his jaw, "Yes, that's it, just there...just there...that's good-" he sighs out.

"Can I move faster now, John?" Sherlock whispers into his ear seconds later and John swallows, tries to think about the question through this strange euphoric haze he is in and he finally manages a nod and Sherlock places a sloppy kiss on the side of his face, lips smearing as he starts to jerk his hips faster, "You must tell me...if I should stop, John...cause...I won't...I can't unless you tell me to...only if you tell me-" the man says in a deep guttural tone. 

"It's fine, Sherlock-" John wheezes out and his hands latch onto the man's back, nails digging in and Sherlock lets out a yell of surprise, his hips giving a harsh jerk in response and John yells at the sharp intrusion but finds his back arching.

Then he falls over, his prick throbbing as he does, hot seed pooling on his belly and he swears several times, rocking down through the chemicals his brain as just released as such a strong climax. 

He is confused when Sherlock suddenly asks in a near fevered craze, "In or out!?" 

"Wh-what?" John asks as he feels Sherlock's jerks grow in speed, "IN OR OUT, JOHN!" He yells desperately and John realizes what he is asking and given it's a split second decision he stumbles through and answers with, "I, uh, don't know...in...IN!" he yells and Sherlock gives a hard thrust and then locks his hands onto John's hips, John letting out a mix between a cry and a gasp as he feels Sherlock's prick shuttering and spitting inside him. 

He panics for a second, his mind recalling several images that make his stomach churn, "No, wait, stop-" he starts but seconds later feels hands on his face and he opens his eyes to see Sherlock above him, "I am sorry, John, I should have asked before he got so far along." 

John gives a shaky nod and pulls Sherlock back down to him, "Just give me a minute you stupid...just give me a minute... I need it." he says softly. 

"Alright." comes Sherlock gentle reply and John doesn't think to clean his belly, just waits nervously for Sherlock to pull out and the man does after several very slow seconds. 

John rolls to his side, breathing heavy as he feels Sherlock come up behind him and wrap an arm around him, his face peering over his shoulder to look at him, "Are you-" 

"I'm fine, Sherlock. Just, lay down with me for a few minutes while I... I just need to work through a few things and then you can go and-" 

"I'm not going anywhere, John. Take all the time you need." and the man kisses his shoulder again and John drops his eyes back to stare at the wall.

 **A/N: Alright, that is it for this chapter, thirty-one angsty pages is enough. There is one, maybe two more chapters to this short story and I REALLY hope you liked this chapter. Please leave a review to let me know cause this was REALLY hard to write and post. I am extremely nervous, never really written anything like this before in regards to an actual case and stuff, you know, trying to be all clever and Moffitt and Gattis. I tried to link everything back to do the full circle thing but I am sure I left some loopholes.  
**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Not much to say here accept warnings and disclaimers. I hope you enjoy! Read and review and the last chapter will be posted asap.**

 **WARNINGS: SEXUAL RELATIONS BETWEEN TWO MEN LEMON ETC MENTIONS OF PREVIOUS TRAUMAS INCLUDING RAPE PEDOPHILIA AND ALL THE OTHER STUFF I'VE MENTIONED BEFORE. TRIGGERS ARE THE SAME.**

 **DISCLAIMERS: NOT EDITED I DON'T OWN I JUST PLAY NO PROFITS WERE MADE ENTERTAINMENT ONLY ETC ETC ETC ETC.**

CHAPTER FIVE

In Sherlock, we Trust

The water pours out from the shower head full blast, clouds of steam rolling up from the stall and bellowing out over the top. The mirror is fogged, the walls run damp with moisture and a man stands under the boiling spray and sighs out with fatigue.

His skin is red, head hanging dejectedly as he watches the water swirl down the drain. It runs a dark brown, and he lets out a whine at the sight of it, "It's all in your head." he says softly.

Shaking himself gently to fight off the fatigue, he places a hand on the tiled wall to steady himself.

Body having gone ridged and his muscles tight, he strains against a dizzy spell and gives a harsh sniff as he tries to stay alert.

The water is burning his skin, pricking likes needles across his upper back, neck and scalp, "I don't want to...do this anymore." he murmurs lethargically as he realizes that his trials and tribulations are far from over.

The sound of the door opening slowly, followed by the swooshing of fabric and shuffling of feet tell him he is no longer alone. Seconds later the curtain is drawn back and his dark haired companion steps in.

"Bit _hot_ in here, I should have a word with the landlady." he says in jest, his height glaringly different compared to the shorter man next to him, though his witticism is in vain as the thoroughly saturated man is despondent.

"John?" the taller man utters his name with reverence, a hand coming to reside lightly on a bright pink shoulder. The long slender hand jolts a little in shock at the heat that has been collected in the skin, water leaving small red marks on his on pale flesh and suddenly an arm reaches through the deluge and lowers the heat level quickly.

"The water is brown." John whispers out, his teeth gritting as he leans forward and places his head on the cool tile.

"What? Brown?" Sherlock asks, his eyes looking down to the drain before he comes closer to his friend, eyes looking at the inflamed skin with astonishment.

"The water always looked brown...after he...after he finished with me. I could never get it off me, all that filthy...the filth...his filth." John pants as his mind tips with another bout of wooziness.

"You mustn't let this come as a set back, you took a big risk tonight, allowed yourself to accept something you've been fighting for years. It can't all be remedied in one day. The battle is won but the war is not over, it will never be over, not for you."

John's legs suddenly give out, a gasp escapes his lips but before he can connect with the floor two solid arms wrap around his torso and keep him up right. John's breathing is labored, his head still spinning as he feels Sherlock's hard body press into his back.

"It's not suppose to be that way." John says weakly and Sherlock leans his face forward, lips pressing into the wet hair that is plastered to his head, "That is an unfair expectation to place on yourself, given your history of abuse. Honestly, I'd be worried if you could go through such proceedings as you have this last week and not see some form of psychological side affect."

After several minutes John finds his balance, Sherlock keeping his arms in place to give support while waiting for John to get his bearings. John is at his wits end.

It is a much easier task to stand now that his body is cooling, Sherlock releasing him so the man can turn around.

John's forehead comes to rest on the front edge of his shoulder, "I mean with you, Sherlock. It's not supposed to be that way with you. You're, you are...special... to me, Sherlock. It was supposed to be different with you." John clarifies as he gives off a small benign sob to express his frustration and disappointment.

Hands come to lay tenderly on either of his shoulders, lips placing a protective kiss to the wet skin just above John's brow.

"It is what it is." Sherlock says, his hands sliding to wrap around his companion, cheek coming to rest on the top of his head.

"I want...I want to do it again-" John starts but Sherlock restfully shushes him and says in a low purr of a voice, "We should wait, though I can't claim I don't share the sentiment, I am not in the business of traumatizing my friends."

John's hands slide up Sherlock's chest, watching as his fingers spread over the wet pale skin, lingering over scars, curiously fingering marks he didn't even know existed.

"Sherlock...turn around." John says as his fingers brush up and over the taller man's shoulder and he feels something on the backside.

"John, I don't think now is the best-"

"Turn around, Sherlock." John says with more firmly and Sherlock drops his arms and hangs his head as he slowly turns to expose his back.

"Ohmygod...Jesus Chri-" John whispers softly, a trembling hand rises to gently stroke across scars that almost seem to knit the skin across his spine together.

"S-sherlock, how...when did this happen?" John sees the man's shoulders are torn up as well, his lower back particularly covered in random gouges and abrasions.

"It happened while I was...away." he responds somberly.

John takes the man's arm securely and gives a tug to turn him back around, Sherlock's head still looking down and not making eye contact.

"When you were dead." John said with certainty, arms crossing over his chest.

Sherlock just gives a soft nod, his guise of caregiver suddenly gone and replaced with a repentant child that got caught with a hand in the biscuit tin.

John stares at his downcast face, sees the remorse Sherlock feels for letting the man on for that two year period, and John goes to speak but suddenly Sherlock is talking and what he says stills John to his core, "I nearly made contact so many times, but I was worried any interaction would...would leave you in danger. I had to dismantle his network first, had to make sure you were safe. I wanted you with me, so badly. It nearly destroyed me, none of the old wounds you see now hurt at that time near as bad as knowing you were somewhere, living a life without me. I nearly...so many times...you...the very thought of you made me so weak...so... useless. I'd take a thousand more tortures to ensure your safety, to make sure that you will always be with me..." and fingers come up to gaze over John's lips and Sherlock shakes his head, "I have wanted you, this way, so long...and I didn't realize until I went away that... I...I l-l-lo-"

John takes up Sherlock's face, cranes his neck and brings their lips together, giving the man a kiss that is drenched in understanding and empathy, trying to speak the words that neither man has ever been good at saying.

Hands find their way to his hips, fingers skimming down to caress John's backside and in seconds John is pressed to the shower wall, the water still spraying down upon them as their tongues lap and slide like fevered youths.

Sherlock breaks away first, breathing heavy, John following suit and as he looks at the dark hair slicked

down, pale cheeks now red and lips swollen he can almost feel his eyes dilate, his prick twitching and his belly pooling with the heat he is starting to recognize as pure lust.

"I...I want you...need you...again...now...right now...can I...can we-" Sherlock urges as his lips press to John's ear and the blonde's eyes close and he swallows as his mind becomes hazy at such a debased and desperate voice.

When John doesn't respond Sherlock loosens his hold, his head dropping down in near defeat as he apparently registers what he just said, his lips finding John's shoulders and running along the length of it slowly, "I...am...sorry. Mycroft always said I was an emotional child, perhaps he is right, my...sentiment got the better of me...I...I should leave you to wash...leave you to..." and his lips slide up to the man's neck, another tender kiss lingering on John's throat.

"Mygod-" John groans out as Sherlock continues his ministrations, not used to being the target of such sultry affections as this. John has only ever been the one to apply such agonizing measures on his many female companions. He wonders if he ever had this effect, or if once again, Sherlock has bested him at another skill.

John feels his body responding in the positive, knows he is aroused to the point of feeling intoxicated and perhaps, if there was ever a time to try again, this would be it. Turning his head he brings his mouth to the man's ear and and says softly, "Let's have a wash, and then, after dinner...we can do whatever you want."

John feels Sherlock grow still, save for the man's finger, which taps singularly on his hip. His head is bent next to John's neck and he swears he can hear the man's mind churning it's extensive gears to determine if this course of action is the right one to take, "Don't make me a promise you aren't prepared to keep, John. I...you should know...our new arrangement has compromised...I am having trouble regulating..."

It is John's turn to hush Sherlock and the man's hands suddenly tighten on his hips, "I want you to spend the next hour thinking of all the things you could do to me, and then, after dinner, I want you to do them...that's an order." John says, pressing a gentle kiss to Sherlock's ear, "I need this Sherlock, I need to engage...it's who I am...will you help me...so that I can go back to being the person who always helps you? Because, that's who I want to be, not this...this mess of a man who feels more like a scared child."

John feels Sherlock's head turn to press his lips to his ear, "You are giving me an order, Captain?"

"Oh yes, godyes-" John shutters out, "Think of it as a new game, you have one hour...what can you come up with in an hour, Sherlock?"

Sherlock is breathing heavy now and he takes a step closer, pressing his rigid prick into John's and the ex-soldier lets out a rather breathy grunt, "Can I touch you while I deliberate?" he asks and suddenly John realizes that Sherlock likes the idea of making this into a game so John, knowing how his friend loves a challenge, says in a stern whisper, "Absolutely not."

"Mmm, when do we start this new game?" he asks, lips sliding from John's ear to caress his cheek, jaw and nose, "Thirty seconds-" John whispers, a random number to be sure, but he wants Sherlock to keep doing what he is doing just a moment longer.

"Very well, I accept. A wash, dinner...then I get to idolize your genius-"

"No touching." John moans as Sherlock gently nips at his lips and the man nods, his blue eyes looking at him in such a way, John nearly thinks he has made a mistake in pushing to engage his demons.

"Fifteen seconds-" Sherlock muses and John quickly seeks out the man's lips and locks on, fingers sliding up into wet hair and Sherlock's fingers nearly bruising his hips.

The fifteen seconds pass and suddenly Sherlock pulls away completely, reaching to turn the heat back up in the shower and he grabs for the soap, "Right, time for a wash." and he goes about washing as if nothing has happened.

John stands there dumbstruck, knowing Sherlock is just doing what must be done to win the game, but still, he finds he wishes he had that level of discipline. His own body is still trembling, heart pounding and he feels weak in the legs. John shakes himself from the shock and takes a deep breath, willing his erection to go away, the heat in his belly to settle and he grabs up the shampoo, determined not to let Sherlock out shine him again.

PAGEBREAK

It was hard, the shift between aroused to simply having a wash, the first few minutes tense as both men tried to regulate their urges, Sherlock being much better at the task. Once John's body had calmed down he found it was easier to get through it, noting the water no longer looked brown.

They exit the shower shortly after and dry off, Sherlock leaving the small room first, then they going about their nightly routine as if nothing is different. John orders some take away while Sherlock sits in his chair and messes about on his violin.

John pulls out some extra napkins from the drawer and decides to clear enough room at the table for them to sit. He grabs up an old cup to see what is in it, taking a sniff and then making a face, "Oh, Jesus." he hisses and goes to turn for the sink when his foot catches a chair leg and the moldy black liquid inside sloshes out onto his shirt.

"Oh, that's lovely, really need to start cleaning up your coffee cups Sherlock." and he sets the cup aside in the sink and grabs up a rag to wipe at his shirt, knowing it's pointless and that it is going to need a soak he gives a frustrated sigh of defeat and pulls the shirt up and over his head. He feels his body tighten when the wet fabric gets caught on the dry skin of his face and he has to give a yank.

"What the hell was in that cup, Sherlock?" he asks looking to the man in question with a frown only to jump when he finds Sherlock right behind him.

"Christ, Sherlock! What the hell is wrong-" and he sees Sherlock raise a hand and then stop, his face giving the barest hint of an irritated twitch, but the hand resumes its course only to veer to the left and take the shirt from his hand, "You should be more careful, John. You never know when something unexpected might happen." and the man moves past him stiffly.

John's brain shorts a little at the tone of the man's voice, it holds the ring of someone who is satisfied with an outcome, who is just speaking to fill in the expected response for such a blunder.

John realizes he has never notice before how easy it could be to see through Sherlock's bullshit.

 _So, that's how she did it._ John finds he suddenly understands how Mary knew when to call Sherlock out on his habit of "fibbing."

"Hold on a minute- Sherlock...did you just..." and the man turns to look at him from his place at the sink while John glances down to the chair he had got caught on, then to the spot where the mug was and back to Sherlock, a frustrated smirk coming to his face, "Jesus, I can't believe it. You did that."

Sherlock looks at him and cocks his head, and once again, as if John was struck by some magic bullet, he can hear the faux confusion in Sherlock's voice when he says, "I don't know what you are talking about."

"You placed the mug, moved the chair. You set it up to guarantee a spill." Sherlock says nothing and John's eyes grow in astonishment and his lips purse, "You...you have nothing to say?"

Sherlock continues to stare, his clever eyes studying John as his lips part gently.

"You did, didn't you. But why would you purposefully..." and John stops as it hits him like a tone of bricks, "No touching." he sighs out and a chuckle comes up from his throat, his head shaking in utter disbelief as he bites his bottom lip, "I said you couldn't touch me...so you came up with a way to get what you wanted without raising a bloody finger."

John crosses his arms over his bare chest as he eyes his companion up and down, "Well? Did I deduce your little plan properly?"

Sherlock gives the barest of nods as his eyes suddenly hone in on John and he leaves the shirt hanging off the edge of the sink, slowly approaching and extending a hand. He stops just short of John's folded arms and lets his hands drop.

John runs a tongue across his lips and then Sherlock jerks away and let's out a frustrated growl as he runs fingers through his hair in agitation.

"What gave it away?" he asks.

"Your voice." John says instantly

"Interesting."and Sherlock moves closer, his eyes narrowing as he looks the shirtless man up and down with curiosity.

"What is?"John's annoyance at the man's antics growing subtly.

"The fact that you've never noticed before, and yet suddenly-" Sherlock starts, his tone of curiosity boarding on intrigued.

"We've never had sex before." John quips.

"I don't understand. How would sex have any effect on your ability to detect when I am not being honest. I never had sex with Mary, she could tell."

John snorts, "Woman's intuition. As for sex changing my ability to detect your bullshite, well, hearing you moan my name could have something to do with it."

Sherlock cocks his head in confusion, "I still don't-"

"More emotions in your voice during sex, _a lot_ more, now that I have heard the difference...I'll make sure to remember it."

Sherlock suddenly looks terrified, "What do you know, you really do have problems with intimacy, but not for the reasons I thought."John says with an evil smirk.

Sherlock gives a sigh as he looks away and says haughtily, "Oh, it's all so _telling_ isn't it, so fascinating to deduce why people hide their insecurities behind a facade."

"So you're insecure as well, never would have guessed that." John can tell he is getting under Sherlock's skin, he would be lying if he said he wasn't enjoying it just a touch. But he isn't really trying to hurt the man, or upset him and so before the man reverts back to his usual machinations of insulting John or throwing a tantrum the man decides to show some mercy and change the subject.

"So, there has been a before? Just how many times?" John presses, his eyes narrowing at Sherlock right back and the detective suddenly stands straight and gives him a side ways glance.

John clears his throat and swings his arms down to grip them behind his back, "Just how many times have you done that little trick of yours? How many times have you manipulated me to do your bidding or give you something you want?"

Sherlock is obviously in debate about telling him the truth of the matter but John clears his throat again loudly, the authority coming through and that seems to give Sherlock the incentive to say in a casual tone, "Oh, not often, just to get the occasional fag or have you do the dusting."

"Fibbing, Sherlock." and the man's casual demeanor suddenly breaks away and he squares up to John and bites his lips in frustration, the tendons in his neck flexing as he tries to think of a better response.

"You know, I think I hear the take away, shall I go check-"

"Don't change the subject. How many times?" John says and his tone bars all argument.

Sherlock hesitates before he seems to come to the conclusion he can't get out of it and then his body sags as he says, "Alright, a lot." and John lets out a testy sigh and rubs his eyes with his fingers.

"How have I survived living with you for so long." he questions, even though he is asking himself more so than Sherlock, the man responds with a single word, "Luck?"

John glances up at the man, their eyes locking, before smiles spread across their faces and they each give out a rather appreciative chuckle.

PAGEBREAK

They eat dinner in relative silence, John noticing Sherlock's eyes scanning up to him on and off through out the whole thing. John checks his mental clock and thinks it's been about forty-five minutes since they started this little game and he already feels his body growing excited for the clock to reach zero.

"Have any thoughts on what you'd like to do after dinner?" John asks softly as he glances up to the man across from him.

Sherlock stills, the fork caught mid-air as he raises his eyes to meet John's, "Some." he says as his fork drops back down, the bite untouched.

"Well, we have about fifteen minutes...give or take... might be interesting to hear what you have in mind."

Sherlock's tongue clicks in his mouth, "That might ruin the surprise." his voice purrs out softly and John gives a slow chew as he continues to stare at his friend, "A thought did occur to me, though, just after we had a wash."

"Really? What is that?"

"Well, we have no plans for tomorrow, perhaps we should allow for an extended evening, you know, have a lay in."

John swallows the food nervously, the thought of spending an entire evening at Sherlock's mercy near daunting.

"You did say you wished to engage, what better way to do so then by facing your demons...until they are gone." and his voice is near dripping with innuendo and John lets out a shuttered nervous chuckle as he looks away. The red that has erupted over his cheeks makes him feel rather inept, giving he has far more experience in the area of sexual gratification.

"Ten minutes." he hears Sherlock say softly and he looks back across the table, seeing Sherlock has taken up his fork again, pressing the rice around aimlessly as he stares.

"Ten minutes." John parrots and the excitement and nervous energy of the wait starts to build in him, and his fork drops from his hand. He quickly grabs it up, takes a bite of his food and stares at the wall just to the right of Sherlock's head.

"Unless, of course, you wish to admit defeat. Then, supposing the night allows we can see how things proceed at a much...slower pace."

John stops chewing and his eyes jump back to look at the man across from him, a cocky smirk plastered on his face.

"You're doing it again." John says, "Trying to manipulate me into doing what you want."

"Very good, John. Now all you have to do is figure out which one I want, and you can make your decision accordingly, but you only have eight minutes left...so...best start working it out."

"And what if I don't want to work it out?" John asks with annoyance.

Sherlock scoffs and says with confidence, "I really think you do. Because, seeing as I haven't touched you, if the clock runs out, you're at my mercy. And we both know what that implies."

John has nothing to say to that, but it seems Sherlock isn't done anyway, "It's rather interesting isn't it?"

"What?" John asks.

"How dangerous a game you chose to play."

"Dangerous? In what way?"

"Well, we've only just begun our little courtship, you've no idea what I like...what I may prefer to do with my lovers."

"What lovers?" John scoffs, his confidence growing as he realizes there is a very good chance Sherlock is talking it up to scare him, which would give Sherlock an excuse to go slow and tentative as well.

But, Sherlock just chuckles as he says with a rather pleased grin, "My point exactly."

"Sherlock, I don't understand, what are you implying-"

"Well, since my history of sexual affairs in limited to a junkie female roommate in uni, my pathologist and now my doctor... what _wouldn't_ I want to do? five minutes left."

And John sits at the table in shock, his dinner all but forgotten as he finally understands the point Sherlock is trying to make.

It never occurred to John how having a partner like Sherlock could be rather daunting. The man had repressed his sexuality for years, literally years. His partners now limited to three people, two of which were only a few months apart. If Sherlock truly meant what he was implying than John had just started relations with a sexually crazed sociopath with a drug habit and plenty of time on his hands.

"Three minutes-" the man purrs as he leans his chin lazily on his hand, eyes glancing between the fork he is spinning in his rice and John himself, who is still shocked at the turn of events the night has taken.

"I've made a huge miscalculation." John says finally, his thumb dashing up to his lips where teeth nervously sink into his nail.

"I'd say, and you only have two minutes to recalculate."

John gives him a side-long glare, trying to figure just how full of bullshit the man is, when he gives a smirk, "You talk big, but I think you are just trying to mess with me. Even if you aren't, you know my history, and despite what you let people think of you, you wouldn't do anything I wouldn't want."

This time Sherlock's eyes sharpen, his focus absolute as they narrow, "You told me you need to engage, that the only way you will be able to move beyond your traumas and regain your old self is to embrace the things you fear. The only way to embrace sexual desires towards another man, is to do it, and I have absolutely no qualms about doing what is necessary to help you...jumped off a building...remember."

John swallows as he reads the sincerity in the man's eyes, "Besides, I've been _lusting_ after you for years now, be a shame to waste such a brilliant opportunity. Especially considering you are the one who devised this little game in the first place. I'm just following the rules...one minute-"

"No, no you wouldn't be so crass, it's not your M.O-"

"Isn't it? I don't know, I think showing up at a restaurant on the night you intend to propose to your future wife after having faked my death for two years is pretty crass... 30 seconds."

"I-"

"Then there was the time I insulted my pathologist at a Christmas party when she made an effort all for my own benefit...still feel bad about that-"

"You had no clue she was-"

"And the time I allowed myself to be nearly strangled to death by a serial killer just to prove the point he was one in the first place, fifteen seconds-"

"Will you just let me-"

"Over all I can be rather lewd and equally as crass considering I've drugged my parents, brother and your pregnant wife all in the hoppes of selling government secrets, ten seconds-"

"SHERLOCK!"

"I'm pretty sure I killed a man once, what was his name? Five seconds...four..."

"No, you're bluffing."

"Three."

"Sherlock!"

"Two-"

"Stop being so-"

"One."

"I surrender!" John yells as he stands abruptly and Sherlock follows suit, only he stands slowly, his eyes meeting John's as he places his palms on the table, "Times up, sit down, John." he says with a smile.

John is a ball of anxiety, arousal and nerves but he finds his legs bending and he sits down with a shocked plop.

Sherlock languidly walks around the table, John's eyes following him and then the man disappears from view as he places his hands on John's shoulders.

"Games over, I win, and now, it's time for you to relax." John stiffens at the word and Sherlock lets out a sigh, "I was wondering about that."

"W-wondering about what?" John asks as his voice cracks.

"Your trigger words. Much the same as Mycroft used to do with me for Eurus, checking to see if anything from my past traumas would resurface. The word relax, accompanied with physical touch of the sexual nature, particularly around your shoulders, hips and stomach illicit anxiety and fear."

"I'm not afraid." John says angrily, his anxiety fading a little as the aggression slowly shadows over it.

"Call it what you want, John. But trigger words are important to break from your mind. Lest you have a traumatic reaction at a time you would rather not."

"How do I do that?" and he knows he sounds annoyed, can't really help it now, the tension has been building for over an hour and he wishes he hadn't blindly committed to doing something he knew he clearly wasn't ready for.

"Like this." and Sherlock's hands start to gently message his muscles and John instantly moans as his body droops in submission.

"Just relax, John." Sherlock says softly and John understands what Sherlock's intentions are.

"You gave me permission, if I won, to do anything I want to you, well I want to help you overcome your demons. So, let us start with something small, positive word associate is a very powerful way to break the cycle."

"Ohmygod." John moans out as his body becomes something similar to rubber and he hums, "This is a _great_ idea."

Sherlock works the knots out of John's shoulders for the next half hour and by the time he is done John is so relaxed he nearly can't see straight. When Sherlock's fingers stop and his hands leave the man's shoulders John gives another hum to show his appreciation before he says softly, "So, you wanted to go slow too then. Didn't actually want to rush into something-" but he stops when he turns to see Sherlock is gone and he looks around the room quickly to try and locate the elusive detective.

"I never said that." comes Sherlock's voice and John realizes it came from under the table and John jumps when he feels hands suddenly run up his inner thighs.

"Jesus!" He says, his hands jerk to the edge of the table and his eyes clench shut before they shoot open to look at the ceiling, "S-Sherlock, what are you-" and he feels the man's palms caress over his groin and end at his belt, gripping it and working to get it undone.

"Oh Christ..." John says and then he feels his button pop and his zip is slid down, John biting his lip as the hum he gives this time sounds strained and desperate.

"JesusChristJesusChristJeeeeesusChrist-" he whispers out in a rush as he feels the man remove his now hard prick and then it slides into his mouth.

John's fist slams down on the table and he squirms in his seat, eyes tightly closed and his spin stiffening before he leans back and his heels slide free of the floor.

"S-sherlock...oh god...Sherlock-" but the man doesn't spare him a second and continues his slow attentions, mouth sliding deep onto him before retracting with a sharp suck.

"Ah, huh oh, ohmygod-" even though Sherlock is proceeding slowly John can tell by the fierce way his body is reacting that it won't take long, his cheeks burning at the idea of coming undone so quickly. But Sherlock is diligent and over the next few minutes coaxes John to the edge.

When he spills over into Sherlock's mouth he grunts and tries to restrain himself from yelling out.

After, he pants into the kitchen, head back and body near liquid as his eyes flutter closed and he savors the feeling of the post orgasm high. His hands dangle lifelessly at his sides and as he rides out the euphoria he feels hands come to caress down over his shoulders and then his chest as his head is pressed into Sherlock's stomach.

His eyes crack open and Sherlock is looking down at him, an endearing smirk on his face which pops into a true smile as he gives a light laugh, "Relaxed?"

"Indubitably." John concedes.

"Excellent." Sherlock says and then he leans down and kisses John's lips before he murmurs against them, "Want to give it a go? It's rather enjoyable, considering most heterosexual men find the idea repulsive, I am starting to believe they are rather inept. You might like it..." he trails off as he runs his lips back and forth across John's and the doctor swallows as he lets out a small gasp at the tingling sensation that follows.

"Ughn-" John manages before he clears his throat and says as his voice cracks, "I've tried it, makes my throat hurt." he moans as Sherlock continues to run their lips together and John feels heat flood his lower abdomen.

"It doesn't if done right, and I would _reeeally_ like to-"

"To what?" John whispers.

"Feel your mouth on my-" and the man stops again though he doesn't hesitate to try again, "On...my..." and his voice has a slight tremor to it as the idea seems to send him into an intoxicated euphoria.

"Alright, but you've got to promise me-"

"All the time you need, stop whenever you want...I just want to feel it...see you..." and he can't seem to finish the most simple of sentences and John gives a near drunken laugh, "You want a suck?"

Sherlock looks at him and gives a nod as his hand trails up John's chest, the palm coming to rest on a cheek as he whispers, "Please?"

"You've never begged a day in your life."

"Only for you." he says softly and John smirks, "Mmm, must be something in the water." and then John says in the softest of voices, "Go lay on the bed, give me a few minutes to prepare and then I'll be in."

Sherlock nods, "I'll just undress shall I?" and he stands slowly and turns to head to the bedroom, "No need to undress for a-"

"I won the game John, this is just the foreplay, we've got all night." he says as he disappear into the dark of his room to leave John his time to muse.

John stares after him and he sighs, "Jesus, foreplay to Sherlock is halfway off to everyone else." he murmurs as he glances down and sees he is still undone. He reaches down to zip up when he realizes there isn't a point, if Sherlock has his way John will be naked again in less than thirty minutes.

He stares at the table than, memories of Wayne flashing like a horror movie through his mind. John sucks in a breath and tries to dislodge the disgust that circles like a vulture in his stomach. The idea of sucking off Sherlock is much more pleasurable to him than the memories he is currently trying to fight back but he isn't so sure he can reach a middle ground.

John remembers how much his throat ached after, the horrid taste, the way he could smell the man's musk for hours after even when he bathed.

It makes the blood drain from his face but as he looks down to his own lap he realizes that if Sherlock can do something so base he should be able to as well.

John has never wanted to please someone as much as he has wanted to please Sherlock. His relationship with Mary aside, because that was so far gone from what he was doing now, he doesn't even consider the two comparable, he wants to focuses on the fact that for Sherlock, he is willing to do anything.

He stands then, leaves his pants undone and heads towards the bedroom, his body tensing again as he enters to find the man wrapped in a sheet, sitting in the center of the bed with his hands joined before his face.

John stands there and waits only to realize the man is currently in his mind palace. John wonders if the man is organizing his most recent experience and he stares at the man as a smirk comes to his face and he wonders if he should do what he is thinking.

He undresses seconds later, leaving his boxers in place and then carefully gets on the bed. His hands gently take up the sheet and work to move it aside, his eyes straying up to his friend several times to see if he has come back yet.

Sherlock remains still and supposedly oblivious so John continues to try and find an entryway through the sheet. He succeeds and stops when he sees the man's prick, erect and red, his curiosity about what Sherlock might be doing in his mind palace suddenly confirmed.

"Alright, John, you can do this, just take it slow and..." he leans down, stopping just short of the swollen head before he opens his mouth and slowly sinks his down into the rigid muscle.

He waits there a moment, allows a deep inhale through is nose and registers the smell, taste and overall feeling is different from what he expected. It doesn't repulse him, doesn't make him want to gag and so he pulls back and slides down again.

His throat doesn't spasm, his stomach doesn't churn and he realizes his belly is slowly shifting from anxious and disgusted to warm and settled.

He focuses on Sherlock's smell and taste, sliding down deeper as he experiments with his own preferences and approach to preforming the task at hand.

Another pull and push and then he hears the faintest of noises from Sherlock, a sigh, then a small groan, and then he hears a groggy, "J-John?"

Then he feels a hand jumped to the back of his head and fingers latch into his hair, Sherlock giving a sudden blast of noise as the shock and surprise pull him from his mind the rest of the way.

Both men freeze, Sherlock sucking in violent gasps as John feels the air gushing to and from his lungs as his anxiety is now back at the sudden grip in his hair, but as his mouth is currently lodged onto the man's prick he can't say anything to dissuade the man from doing something rash.

"Easy-" he hears Sherlock say and it appears as if he is talking to himself, "Relax, let go of his head." Sherlock murmurs to himself, his tone sounds chastising and John realizes Sherlock doesn't know he is speaking out loud, "Open your hand, let him go..." he says almost inaudibly.

John makes the decision then and there that he will never be so stupid as to suck off Sherlock while the man is in his mind palace, the transition from the mind to reality apparently too difficult to transcend.

He wishes he could take it back, wishes he hadn't thought he was being clever in doing this because now he is at Sherlock's mercy unless he wants to punch the man or bite him, neither sounding like a course of action he is willing to take.

"J-John, a warning for the future...don't surprise me when I am in my mind palace and aroused at the same time, I nearly shoved my prick down your throat." he says it in such a cold and indifferent way, as if his emotions have been shut off completely and John starts to raise his head, hoping the man will be sensible enough to let him go.

The man's hand hold firm and John is forced to stop, he lets out a whine as panic starts to set in, "Bit tricky that, give me a moment if you would." his voice remaining that smooth near emotionless monotone that makes John's skin crawl.

"Please." John tries to mouth out as he feels a tear come to his eye and Sherlock's hand fists his hair before he gives a yank and John is pulled off. Losing his balance at the sudden jerk John falls backwards off the bed, landing with a thud on his back and looking up at Sherlock who looks absolutely crestfallen, he holds up a hand and says calmly, "Don't panic."

John continues to stare at him a moment, his eyes dried up as his brain tries to digest what just happened, "You don't have to do anything else, but I really don't want you to-" John stands abruptly and returns to the bed, knees bending onto the edge as he starts to crawl towards Sherlock, the man looking perplexed as he watches.

John leans in and kisses him soundly, letting out a moan as he does, his body and brain flooding with all the chemicals and hormones associated with the defect of love.

When he pulls away Sherlock pulls a face, "That was..."

"Good. What you just did, very good."

"I very nearly assaulted you." Sherlock counters in confusion and John kisses him before saying, "But you didn't, you let me go, and that-" he kisses his throat before whispering licentiously in his ear, "Was very very good."

"I was good?" Sherlock whispers sounding like the praise is much more erotic than a good suck could ever be.

"Yes, and you know what happens when you do something good?"

Sherlock instantly says, "John is satisfied."

"And do you remember what happens when John is satisfied?"

Sherlock's eyes are closed as he gasps out lightly, "What?"

John chuckles before saying, "Sherlock gets to be satisfied too." and John snakes kisses down the man's face, his throat, over his collar bone and down his chest, listening to the tiny gasps and gentle hums of the man above as he finally finds his way back down to try and finish his original task.

When he opens his mouth and takes Sherlock's prick between his lips the man shutters and groans in the most ridiculous way. John humming at the sound of it and his heart swelling dramatically at the fact that the man had complied so readily.

There was something erotic about the fact that Sherlock let him go, didn't try to talk him into continuing nor forcing him to go further. The road to trust that they were currently trying to build has just got another brick laid into it, and John, in his excitement at the thought of it sinks down as far as he could.

Sherlock lets out a yell and his hand jerks to fall on John's back, his fingers fisting into a ball and resting there in a trembling mass.

John isn't surprised when he realizes he doesn't actually hear the man say anything, no words come out, no swears or blasphemy, just the most basic sounds and it seems to him to be ironic.

Sherlock being so posh and groomed John would have assumed his bedroom vocabulary to be extensive even with his lack of experience on the matter. But in fact, Sherlock seems to be more keen on instinctive noises and guttural moans, only once or twice slipping in some semblance of an affirmation via the strained word, 'Yes.'

John decides he wants a better angle and pulls away long enough to tell the man to lay down, which Sherlock complies with instantly. Before John continues with his task he leans up and says next to Sherlock's ear, "You can talk if you want, say anything you like, don't feel the need to watch what you say. In this situation, saying anything that comes to mind is usually good, yeah?"

Sherlock gives an inclination of his head as his hazy eyes flutter open to look at him and John smirks before he moves and goes back to his labors.

Sherlock still doesn't seem to be interested in saying anything for, as the minutes tick by, he still only offers the bare minimum in vocalization. John figures the man truly prefers to remain silent and has no need to be so crass when suddenly shaky and aroused words fly from his lips, "I have...thought of this so often...during our years together. Having you...do this to me...it was one of my favorite...rooms to visit in my...mind palace."

John keeps working though his eyes stray up to look at his companion and his ears focus on what he is saying, "M-many long sleepless nights were wasted on watching this very scenario play out in my head. The urges it would elicit, the pleasure it might invoke, the way it would feel to have your mouth...wrapped around my..."

When Sherlock freezes on his word John slowly raises his head up and says in a soft voice, "Say it."

The man licks his lips, goes to form the word and then stops again. John is at a loss at why the simple word, prick, cock, bird, shaft, length, rod or stiffy won't leave his lips and so he looks down to the red swollen muscle before his eyes change direction and land on Sherlock's balls.

John knows what he likes as a man, knows what he has asked his partners to do to pleasure him more thoroughly, as a doctor he can take a step back for just a moment to be practical as he thinks of how to help his companion say what is on his mind.

Reaching his hand out he cups Sherlock's balls just firmly enough to give safe pressure and Sherlock in response jerks, gives a small grunt of pleasure and his back arches off the bed, "Say it." John says again.

"J-John-" the man strains out and his stomach clenches, hands fisting the bedding and toes straining down. John rubs a thumb over the tender flesh and Sherlock lets out an extremely strained groan, sounding near painful as the tendons in his neck stress.

"Sherlock, say prick."

"P-prick." he shutters out and John gives a satisfied smile, "Not so hard."

"No, very hard, and about to go-" Sherlock gasps.

"What?" John asks in confusion.

"Go! My cock, John!" and the man looks down in realization, "Shit!" and instantly drops back to take the man into his mouth, sliding up and down slowly while he adds a little pressure to his handful.

"Yes! Yesyesyesyes!" Sherlock hisses out and his whole body jerks, muscles tighten and then he falls over, body giving small convulsions as he releases into John's mouth.

John, for his part, does his best to experience the outcome without letting his previous negative bias get the better of him. He relaxes his jaw, opens his throat and swallows slowly.

"Oh yes, yes, dear god you swallowed it." Sherlock pants in shock and a mild bout of ecstasy laces his voice, "Good as you hoped?" John asks, relaxed curiosity threading through his voice as his hand comes to rest on his thigh.

Sherlock gives a small inclination of his head and lets out one long sigh. John chuckles and shakes his head before he moves to plop down on the bed next to Sherlock, fingers threading together as his hands rest on his stomach.

"You alright?" Sherlock asks.

"Hm? Me? I'm fine, definitively fine."

"Good. That's good." Sherlock says with a breathy pleased tone.

They remain silent for several long seconds before John speaks again, "Sherlock?"

"Hmm?" it's a light tone, one that promises sleep is right around the corner, "Is there a reason you are so...quiet...during-"

"Yes." Sherlock says quickly, the fatigue suddenly gone from his voice.

"Oh, well, that was easy."

"What?"

"You telling me the truth. Normally you'd make some snide or mysterious comment and then go into your mind palace."

Sherlock remains silent a moment before he lets out a sigh and slings an arm over his eyes, "Well, you're bound to find out sooner or later, might as well be from me. Do you remember the girl I mentioned, a roommate at uni?"

"Yeah, what about her?"

"She wasn't really my roommate but she was the closest thing I had to a friend at the time. Only came around when I got my allowance of money from Mycroft; she knew I'd get my monthly top up."

John remains quiet as Sherlock speaks, not wanting his friend to be deterred from continuing.

"She was an odd little thing, shady no doubt, but most junkies are. Somehow, she was able to put up with this-" and he points to his face and his hand drops back to his side, "So I gave her the fix she wanted to keep her coming round...I was...excessively bored-"

And John wonders if he were to take every time Sherlock said the word bored and inserted the word lonely how many of his temper tantrums would start to seem less like cries for attention and more like a bout of depression.

"...the classes weren't challenging enough and the people...they were just...so-"

"Mean." John muses because he knows that is what Sherlock wants to say though he expects the man will say something along the lines of banal or idiotic.

Sherlock surprises John when he says very softly, "Yes, to the point of near cruelty."

John swallows as an image of a teenage Sherlock comes to mind, no doubt the whipping boy for anyone who despised or envied his intelligence, looks and quick wit.

"One night, after a particularly nasty binge...we...she and I..."

"Got off." John offers and Sherlock makes a noise of approval and nods, continuing with his story, "It was my first time, and I regret to say, or perhaps am happy to say I was high so most of it is just a blurry faded inconsistency in the back of my mind, but-" and he gives pause as he licks his lips nervously and contemplates his words, "Go on." John says softly.

"When we reached the...end...I remember the experience was...overwhelming...having never done it before and being in a very delicate state of mind, I started...saying things."

"What sorts of things?"

"Anything...I had only just started building my mind palace, Mycroft was guiding me through the process. He had hoped, I suppose, it would help me to organize my thoughts more clearly and to keep my drug habit more firmly under control, give my overactive racing mind something to focus on."

"It didn't?"

"No, in fact, all the information that I had been practicing storing came tumbling out. Including a small bit about vivisection and vasectomies."

John's mouth drops open at this and he slowly turns his head to look at his friend who is staring at the ceiling with a rather unreadable expression.

"Needless to say, she ran out screaming, nearly filed a report for rape and never came back to visit."

John digests this a moment and then says in a careful tone, "So, the reason you didn't have sex for so long is because-"

"Partially do, to that particular experience, yes."

"And the rest?"

Sherlock sighs, "John, I have spent my life in the pursuit of knowledge, being more clever than my brother and trying to find my place in a world that doesn't accept the damaged, unique or free minded. The last thing I ever wanted to do was feel their rejections and hatred again through the rose tinted glasses of love. I am not sure I would be at all equipped to handle a task so daunting as long period sentiment, giving it's one of the few things in my life that I don't fully understand and have yet to master."

John lays there a moment before he extends down his arm and takes Sherlock's hand in his own, "You understand it more than anyone gives you credit for, or than you will ever know."

Sherlock's eyes glance to him, study his face and then return to their spot on the ceiling, "It is also _exceedingly_ difficult to focus on solving a murder when your cock is erect."

John instantly bursts into a fit of laughter and Sherlock's deep throaty chuckle joins him seconds later.

PAGEBREAK

He feels like he has been drinking for the last two hours, his mind a hazy mess, lips chaffed and his body a vibrating mess of sensations and burning nerves.

It's a bit like being a teenager again, kissing someone for hours, exploring their body with hungry hands. Straying fingers causing small gasps or moans and the never ending excitement of what could happen next.

It doesn't surprise John that Sherlock would have relatively dominate tendencies in the bedroom, but he is also surprised how often the man can be submissive given his proclivities to be assertive and domineering in the real world.

It's a push and pull between them and Sherlock may very well be thinking the same thing about him. John knows he has a dominate personality that can be accompanied by submissive tendencies. Often times deferring to Sherlock's quick wit and clever mind, and following the man to hell and back with out question. He does tend to snap at the man and has no fear of putting Sherlock back in line when he crosses over it, which is often, but not always unreasonable.

They are both strong willed but John has the ability to put his pride aside a few seconds quicker than Sherlock, though he won't spare the man from his own brand of witty retorts and clever jokes at the man's expense.

As they lay in Sherlock's bed, grazing hands over exposed flesh, lips and tongue continuing to embrace, lick and suck John muses over their duality. Over the grand design of their time together, the fact that they were so perfectly matched and yet as different as a dog and cat.

"Ying and yang." Sherlock muses and John is pulled from his pondering by Sherlock's whispered words against his lips, "What?" John asks in astonishment and Sherlock releases a soft tisk.

"Come now, John. You know me better than that, I can practically hear your brain a buzz with thought."

"How did you know I was thinking about-"

"Everything you do is so telling, grabbing me when I release you, pressing to me when I pull away, giving in when I start to take...it's an ebb and flow that has taken years for us to develop...rather interesting considering you didn't like me the first month of our living arrangements."

"Only the first month was it?" John asks with a cocky smile, "Yes actually, around month two you started to enjoy the game, started to really feed your addiction, it was wonderful to watch, seeing you slowly submerge yourself into my realm and actually enjoy it, so few have the ability to really appreciate my world."

"It's a good world, nice place to be, yeah know, when you're not being shot, forced to jump off a building, nearly decapitated, brutally tortured, attacked by insane woman, or running from psychopathic consulting criminals."

"Oh no, John, that's the best part." he says so softly, the fond look on his face makes John feel exceedingly special and he isn't use to the emotions it elicits.

"God." and he suddenly sits up and puts his face in his hands, Sherlock following swiftly behind and he instantly reaches out a hand but stops. John catches the motion and looks at him, "Christ, you're so different...after all these years...you still find ways to surprise me."

"I don't understand, did I do something wrong?" Sherlock asks and his eyes are desperately searching the man's face before scanning is body, essentially trying to deduce where he made an error and John can't stop his smile, bringing a hand to the man's head, "No, you didn't. You've done everything... _everything_ right. And it shouldn't bother me, but, I think of how easily it could have been for someone else to catch your attention, to find themselves at the receiving end of your affections and it makes me feel...uncomfortable."

Sherlock stares at him a moment, his eyes scanning his face before he says in realization, "You don't want people to know-"

"Yes, no! No, I...just...want to...keep...this to myself."

Sherlock looks confused, unsure and in need of clarification and John sighs bringing a hand to rub down his face, "You don't...trust people, Sherlock. You never have, part of me thinks you want to but you just...don't. It's not...it isn't your nature, you're too jaded to be so naive. But somehow, you learned to trust me, and over the last seven years have...allowed me to see a side of yourself that I know not many people have. Maybe glimpses, but...the way you look at me, what you've done for me...and I don't just mean recently...no one has ever...cared...not really, the way you do and I don't want to lose that. It's selfish but, I want...you... all to myself. Yeah, there, Alright? I said it, I don't want people to know your nice because than I would have to share that niceness with them and I don't...I don't want to." and his face is burning red when he is done, his learned behavior telling him to shut up and go read a book, to bury his embarrassing thoughts and feelings and return to the stoic soldier he was trained to be.

"Right, ahem, I think I'll just go make some tea, shall I?" and John is up and jumping into his boxers, tripping out the door and stumbling into the kitchen.

He makes it to the counter top and his hands reach for the tea supplies only to stop and drop them back to his sides. He braces his hands on the edge and leans, dropping his head and clenching his eyes, "What is _wrong_ with me, Jesus." he hisses angrily and then takes a deep breath in through his nose, gives a sniff and tries to shake away the swell of emotions.

"Useless, useless, no point." he says adamantly and then stands and reaches for the tea, slamming the tin, jostling the cups and turning the stoves switch so hard the knob pops off. He tosses it over his shoulder as he puts the tea strainers into the cups and is about to jab at nothing with a spoon when he feels hands come to either shoulder and gently squeeze.

"If it makes you feel any better... I...love you as well."

John instantly breaks and a sob escapes his throat but he brings a hand up to his mouth, biting his knuckle hard enough to create pain, clears his throat and says, "Yeah, I...I know, mate. Just...looooot of emotions...bit not good."

"Considering recent events, you're entitled. For at least the next few days, after that I may have to send you to my brother, he has a way with killing your feelings...to the point of crushing your soul." and John lets out a small blast of a laugh, his head shaking as he turns and looks up at the man, "What have I ever done to deserve someone like you." and he realizes that the last time he said such a thing he meant it in a completely different way, his heart aches a little at the thought but doesn't allow it to stop him.

He reaches up a hand and caresses Sherlock's cheek the man leaning into the touch with a sudden look of euphoria.

"Of all the things I didn't know about you, I never would have guessed that one of them is how much you liked to be touched."

"Just by you." Sherlock purrs and then he leans forward and their lips meet, the kiss is gentle, more so chaste and then Sherlock whispers out after, his voice a low dangerous thing, "I really think we should go back to the bedroom-"

"Yeah, right...absolutly...yes...let's...now?"

"Definintly, now." Sherlock nods and they both turn, Sherlock placing a hand on the back of his neck as they move through the hall and reenter the bedroom.

PAGEBREAK

Even though it was John's turn to top, he somehow found his way under Sherlock and the man did not hesitate to use it to his advantage. His hips had settled between John's legs while his prick was suddenly pressed in.

"C-can I?" he asks and John nods, his body protesting as Sherlock presses in slowly.

"Er, why does it always have to hurt." John complains and Sherlock chuckles, "I will assume you are being rhetorical and don't actually want me to-"

"Yes, good assumption."

"Just relax, John." and at the word John's body tenses against his will and a sharp bit of pain stabs at his backside, "Shit!" he hisses as his teeth clench. Sherlock stops pressing and waits, one hand gripping the pillow extremely tight as the other cups the back of John's head.

"You have to relax, for your body to relax, you're a doctor you know this. Stop thinking and just do it."

"Easy for you, you're not the one being-"

"Fucked." Sherlock suddenly says softly and John's focus instantly goes to his friend and Sherlock stares as him a moment before he says in that deep voice of his, "I like fucking you, to the point of insanity. I want to have you, like this, always...and I don't ever want you to tell me no..." the heat in John's belly erupts ten fold, his eyes no doubt dilating at hearing Sherlock say something so dirty.

"Better, John." Sherlock chirps suddenly, and John is about to ask what he means when Sherlock presses in the rest of the way meeting no resistance and John's back arches off the bed. The type of yell he usually tries to holds back escaping his throat as he is shocked by the sudden thrust.

Pleasure explodes in his belly, a intoxicated feeling smearing around the inside of his brain and he lets out the most desperate of whines before he sinks fingers into Sherlock's curls and yanks him down, "Do it again, do it again, no, please."

Sherlock slides out, the feeling making John shutter before Sherlock slides back in just as fast and hard and John suddenly thinks he may very well become delerious, "Again, againagainagain-" he whispers as he leans his head and then bites into Sherlock's shoulder.

Sherlock lets out a sudden grunt at the bite and pulls out and prushes in much quick, "I really need to fuck you, John."

"Doit, just...doit." John says against the tenderized flesh of Sherlock's neck and the man's hand shifts quickly to wrap up under John's back, his other sliding into the man's hair and then John is lost.

Sherlock moves quick, a rhythm starting that John can hardly keep up with, his prostate being stimulated to the point of making him swear so loudly he worries they will wake Rosie.

His nails dig into the man's scalp, pulling at the hair mercilessly and his other hand drags nails down the man's arm.

Sherlock lets out a yell from the pain of it but this only seems to speed up his hips and John is urging him on, biting harder, sucking and moaning and trying to just stay in this moment of elevated chemicals and pure innocent lust.

"In or out?" Sherlock shutters suddenly and John realizes this time he is ready for it, "In, in definitely in." and Sherlock's hand slides down his torso to wrap around a thigh which he hoists up and holds out of the way so he can get deeper.

John's mouth falls open, eyes screwing shut as he is launched over into oblivion, Sherlock following suit seconds later and they tumble down together in a mixture of gasps, grunts and moans.

Sherlock presses in deep and John's nails dig in hard before he collapses on top of his smaller companion and they both gasp and pant for air.

"I love you." John breaths and Sherlock, in all his eloquence, manages an exhausted, "Mmmm." to which John chuckles and places a kiss on his shoulder.

 **A/N: the next chapter will be the last so stay tuned. Thank u for all the reviews it's much appreciated. Let me know what you think of this little chappy and I will post the last one asap.**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: This was essentially going to be the final chapter but I really couldn't bring myself to end it permanently. So, I gave an ending that could be considered an end but would also allow me to post another chapter if I come up with something. I really like this story and I absolutely LOVE writing John. Turns out, I enjoy it more than writing any other character, who fucking knew? So, even though this is technically the "last chapter" I may still add more to this in the future. The not too distant future. Hope you enjoy it and leave me a review.**

 **WARNINGS: LOTS OF SEX, LEMONS ABOUND, SWEARING, NIGHTMARE IMAGERY (VERY VERY TAME) MORE SEX AND DID I MENTION….SEX. Reader be warned….there is a lot of sex.**

 **Chapter 6**

 **Mucking About**

John wakes up to the baby monitor going off and swallows slowly as he opens his eyes and his head lazily rolls over to see Sherlock laying next to him, splayed out on his front, a hand resting on John's stomach.

Grasping the man's hand he slowly raises it to his lips and gives it a gentle kiss before looking at it. Sherlock's long thin fingers are delicate yet masculine. He recalls feeling them slide up his body, touch him in ways that make him moan and squirm.

His body reacts, the morning wood that comes to him naturally twitching a little at the thought that if Rosie wasn't awake and waiting for him he would be more apt to simply roll over and top the man right now, nice and slow. It was his turn after all-

Sherlock moans and shifts, turning his head to look at him and John rolls over closer to him and brings a hand to the back of the man's head.

"I'm going to go take care of Rosie, you don't have to get up, Sherlock."

He sees the man next to him crack and eye, "Mmmm." Sherlock manages and he murmurs out, "Breakfast?"

"Bit peaky?" Just asks.

"Mmm, had a busy night." Sherlock says softly.

John snorts, "Mmm, a bit."

"Fighting the demons-" Sherlock muses before pushing himself up and leaning over, he gently kisses John's lips and the man responds in kind.

When Sherlock pulls away his blue eyes lock with John's, they stare a moment and then Sherlock asks softly, "Alright?"

John continues to looks at him, eyes running all over the face he has come to know over so many years, "Hm? Yeah, yes, I am...fine...just fine." and he lays back onto the bed and stares at the ceiling a moment, "Hard to believe this is where we are at now, this is what my life has come to."

Sherlock thinks on this a moment before saying softly, "What? Facing your traumatic past like the soldier you are, or shagging your flatmate and admitting you love a man?"

Slowly his head rolls to look at Sherlock, the man's eyes a sparkle of mischief and then John let's out a small chuckle, "You're a cock."

"I'm your cock." Sherlock says and John instantly shoves the man away, "Don't get smart, Sherlock."

"And it would seem you are now Mycroft." and John instantly sits up, grabs his pillow and whips it into the man's head, laughing sarcastically before he flops down on top of him and presses the pillow aside.

Sherlock chuckles softly before they look at each other again, John gazing down while Sherlock looks up, the innocents in those blue eyes make John shake his head as he smirks and leans down, kissing the man softly before Rosie's soft cooes suddenly blast out as she calls, "DA DA DA!"

John slowly raises his head and shuts his eyes, Sherlock's head plopping back down onto the pillow, "I will take care of the little monster." John says.

"Shall I make coffee?"

"Ta." John says and then he presses up and away, rolling from the bed to get dress, Sherlock remaining on the bed, spread eagle and content.

 **PAGE BREAK**

The domestic bliss of the day is interrupted only a few hours after breakfast by a client who wants them to look into the disappearance of his neighbor. A woman by the name of Selena who has been joining him, a man named Sean, every morning for coffee for the last three months but who has suddenly packed and gone without a word.

Sherlock took the case though it seemed rather low in number, given Sherlock usually only took cases that were a six or more when in regards to disappearances.

At first, John had assumed it was because Sherlock was taking pity on the man, but it turned out, as it often does, the detective had a completely different motive.

Given everything that had transpired in the last four days, John had let Sherlock lead him through the case without much questioning. Taking his notes as he always did, following without thought, helping Sherlock work things out by being his sounding board and translating the man's often abrasive personality so as not to offend every person he came into contact with.

John was happy to note, that despite their sudden change in relationship it had zero effect on their ability to work together and solve the cases presented to them.

No one knew what had transpired between Sherlock and John and so they did not treat them any different. Honestly, it had been a relief because in the back of his mind, John had the faintest fear that somehow everyone would know.

He was not an ignorant person, and did not see his recent relationship with Sherlock as something that made him less of a human, less of a man. It was what it was, two people who cared about and loved each other taking their relationship to the next level.

Still, he found, he did not want to suffer through the jokes, jibes, questions or comments that would come if and when people found out. Not to mention, given the reasons that had propelled them forward into such a place as this, he did not want to deal with it, did not think he could deal with it. He also did not want it to affect his and Sherlock's ability to retain their normal lives, or at least, what they considered normal.

The media would have a field day, their friends hounded, the flat held hostage by cameras and reporters. Not because he thought so highly of himself and Sherlock, not because he thought what they were doing was so bloody interesting, but because they were technically public figures, always in the paper, known by just about everyone even if only from John's blog.

Something big, however normal it would be anyone else, would backfire and ruin their lives for several weeks if not months. The media and public would try to force their way in and dissect the duos existence under the microscopic lens of having nothing better to do.

Needless to say, they made it through the case in a day, John finally understanding Sherlock's interest in a seemingly boring case when he was informed that the Sean they had been working for, was the same Sean that had cut the name into the Jane Doe at the morgue.

While Sean had not been responsible for the death of the woman John had been practicing his deductions on, he was responsible for the disappearance of Selena. He had carted her off to a cottage in the countryside when she had refused his advances, hoping Sherlock and John would follow the clues he had laid that would lead them to a false suspect, a scapegoat as it were.

They had gotten to Selena in time, her only injury being a scar of the man's name on her left shoulder. She would forever be marked, but she was alive and grateful for their interventions. Apparently Sean had grown tired of the rejections, unable to find a woman who shared in his sadistic sexual preferences and had decided to simply abduct Selena and try to change her mind.

"Brainwashing is a very effective tool, if someone wants to win the heart of the perfect lover. No doubt he planned to spend the next few years trying to get her to comply and conform to his wants. He had no intention of killing her, but if Selena was as stubborn and strong willed as I suspect she is, death would have been inevitable. She was the first, she wouldn't have been his last."

John looks to Sherlock who sits next to him in the taxi, they were on their way home after having left the Yard.

"You think he would have tried again?"

"No doubt. I've never gotten to apprehend a fledgling serial killer before. I do not doubt though, that if he was unable to convert Selena, he would have removed her and tried again. He wanted the perfect partner, unfortunately one cannot always find the person to whom they most perfectly connect. It was eating away at him, the loneliness, the rejection, the inability to find someone to share his own brand of pleasure with. Resentment, bitterness, anger...it would have driven him further and further...pushed him to keep trying."

"An obsession." John agrees and Sherlock nods before saying, "It doesn't always start in childhood, sometimes it can come later….but eventually, it does come to those who cannot control themselves."

John looks down when Sherlock subtly takes his hand, the man's eyes staring out the window and John can do nothing but lean back and digest what his friend has just said. He wonders how much of that was based on what Sherlock had been so worried on John becoming.

His threats to take Rosie away, to make John see what he was turning into. Though John knows he would never have become an abusive father, never actively hurt Rosie, he wonders if Sherlock thought the anger John was fighting could have pushed him to something else.

John is only glad they would never find out.

 **PAGE BREAK**

When they walk into the building John notices Mrs. Hudson's lights are off, a sign the woman has gone out. He thinks a moment as he follows Sherlock up the stairs and when they enter the flat he pulls out his phone.

Sherlock turns to look at him and speak but stops as John holds up a finger, "Molly? Yeah, hello. How's Rosamund doing? Excellent, look, uhm, do you have any other plans tonight? Have work early tomorrow? Well, I was hoping, any chance you could keep her over night-" and John's eyes flick up to Sherlock, sees the way his gaze has intensified and he stares at him, completely focused and alert.

"No, no, nothing like that, it's all fine, Sherlock and I just have a few more cases to go through and if we- yeah, right, Mrs. H seems to be out just this minutes and I don't want to pick her up only to have to drop her off again….Greg said he may have something for Sherlock to look at too, maybe tomorrow, yeah...that would be amazing. Lunch on me as a thank you and I promise we will all get together soon for a night out, yeah? Thanks, yup, you too."

John looks up from his phone and stares at Sherlock, tossing the mobile onto his chair before his tucks his hands into his pockets, "Seems we have some free time." he says, his face remaining neutral, no smirks or hints of any kind to show his hand.

"Dr. Watson, I do believe you just lied to Miss. Hooper."

"Did I?" John asks coyly.

There are no cases-"

"Have you looked?" John asks as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, giving the man the smallest hint of a playful smirk.

Sherlock cocks his head to the side, his eyes staring the man down as he tries to decipher what John's motives are. In his turn, John gives the man the bare minimum and then watches as Sherlock slowly crosses to John's laptop and lifts the lid, his clever eyes remaining on the man before him up until he glances at the screen.

His eyes run back and forth quickly, scanning John's inbox before looking back and gently pressing down the screen to close it.

"Not a thing." he says softly, his eyes once again focusing on John intently.

"Well, my mistake, hm? Seems we have some time to kill-" and he looks around the flat casually, his lips pursing and eyes glancing to the ceiling a moment before he slowly starts to walk backwards towards Sherlock's room.

He sees Sherlock take a step towards him, a small smirk playing at John's lips as he keeps taking slow thoughtful steps backwards, the shadows washing over him as moves past the kitchen doorway and down the hall.

Sherlock starts walking, his feet quick and silent until he is right in front of John and undoing the buttons of his Belstaff, John chuckling as he says, "Bloody idiot." Sherlock grunts before kicking the door to his room shut with a foot.

 **Page break**

This round, unlike before, they truly take their time. There is ampule snogging, feverish four-play and finally, after working each other over there is the final and ultimately sought goal.

This time though, it's John's turn, and the man realizes he doesn't know how prepared he really is to proceed.

Sherlock is beneath him, hands resting fisted at his sides while John presses the man's legs apart with his hips. He settles on top, spends ample time kissing, nipping and licking at the man's lips, throat and jaw before he whispers, "Ready?"

For once, Sherlock has nothing to say and he closes his eyes and leans back, his body relaxing instantly and John envies the man's ability to control himself so easily.

John settles down, feels the head of his length resting against Sherlock's arse, and he gently runs a hand up the back of the man's thigh, pressing it further away before he takes up Sherlock's lips and starts to push.

Having always been the one to give instead of receive, not a hard thing considering he only had female partners prior to this, he was more than knowledgeable on how to enter slow and gentle.

He knew to let his partner's body have time to accommodate and to listen to the noises they made in hopes of better servicing them.

What he wasn't prepared for was the difference in resistance, the tightness that greeted him, though as a doctor he should have been. He knows the difference in the muscles of the anus verses the muscles of the vagina and yet, it still shocks him.

He moans loudly into the man's mouth, feels Sherlock's hands jump to his hips and halt his progress. Something he is happy to oblige given he feels he might tip over any second. Sherlock's muscles are clamping onto him, holding him from going any further and he hears Sherlock hiss and his body tense.

"Mmm, not so easy to relax, is it?" John teases and he looks at Sherlock's face to see eyes that are a mixture of arousal and spite.

"Now is not the time to mock me, a little slower, if you would, Doctor." and John knows it was in poor taste but he couldn't help himself, he so rarely gets to one up the man beneath him.

"You're right, sorry, bit not good." still he feels the instinct to push his way in, to bury himself deep, to not accommodate the man below him as he had with so many others. He wonders if Sherlock had fought this hard to keep from hurting _him_.

"Alright, nice and slow, ready?" and Sherlock nods, his hands falling away from John's hips and the good doctor continues, pressing in slow, feeling the tight ring giving a little more and inch by inch he works his way in.

It is much the same as the first time Sherlock entered him, though where it took nearly thirty minutes to keep John calm and relaxed, to keep him from having an episode at the intrusion to his body, John makes it in a quarter of that time.

He finds himself rooted, all the way in, pressed up flesh to flesh and he shutters and lays his head down next to Sherlock's, his forehead on the pillow while Sherlock's panting breaths caress his ear.

"Oh, this is good, yeah, definitely good, no more topping for you." John says breathily as he gives an experimental pull out and slowly push back in.

He feels Sherlock arch a little below him, glances down to see the man's hands fisting the bed sheets awfully tight.

"Eh-is that an order, Captain?" Sherlock asks, his voice trembling and breathy as he grunts and spreads his bent legs a little further apart.

"Mmm, no, but I don't think I will be as ready to lay on my back now that I've felt you like this-"

"A challenge then." Sherlock states and his hands jerk to John's hips again, stilling him after another small thrust.

"Let go, Sherlock, I promise I won't hurt you. We will take it slow, but we have to...I have to...start moving or you won't adjust."

Sherlock's hands... John can feel them shaking but after several seconds of intense silence the man reluctantly releases his death grip and John hips. John's arms come up, elbows digging into the bad as he elevates himself just enough to pull out much further and then push back in.

Sherlock arches off the bed again, his hands once again jerking up to stop John's hips.

"It hurts that bad?" John asks and Sherlock's head shakes slowly, "No, feels too good, I am afraid I will go to quickly, every thrust nearly spills me over, I want to enjoy...feeling you…"

A thought pops into John's head and he leans down near Sherlock's ear, "Know what?" John asks.

"Hmm?"

"I think, you might have an overly sensitive prostate…"

Sherlock's head rolls to look at him and their eyes lock, "What? What does that matter?" he asks in confusion, his brow furrowing as his euphoric face stares up at John with worry.

"It means, you might be one of the few men who can enjoy multiple orgasms. Hold on, I want to try something, just a tick-"

"John?" Sherlock suddenly asks clearly, his haze seemingly leaving him a moment but John simply pulls out as far as he can, only the head of his cock remaining inside before he slams in, Sherlock shouting a profanity as his back arches full off the bed and John feels the man's muscles clench around his length, he himself cursing at the death like grip.

He looks to see Sherlock has cum, his seed spurting out of the tip of his length before he falls back onto the bed.

John waits, Sherlock panting heavily before he looks up at him, "Why did you-" but John just leans down and kisses him, "Just wait a few minutes, I am testing a theory."

They sit there, joined together for several minutes, John giving gentle kisses to the man's chest, neck and jaw before Sherlock moans and says much the same as a child would, "What are we waiting for, I don't understand. John-"

John suddenly pulls out and shoves back in, Sherlock jerking and swearing again, "That still feel like you might fall over?" John asks with a smirk.

Sherlock quickly nods and John let's out a high pitched laugh before shaking his head in disbelief, "Congratulations, Sherlock. You just became the luckiest man in London."

"What? Why?" Sherlock asks in true curiosity.

John leans in and whispers next to his ear, "Because you are about to cum, a lot."

Pulling back, John looks at his friend, those large blue eyes growing a tad worried but John just smirks wickedly down at him before pulling back, taking up the man's hips and starting to thrust quick and deep, the following hour is nothing but William Sherlock Scott Holmes begging John Hamish Watson to have mercy, of which the man gives none.

 **Page Break**

John wakes up to light and a silhouette above him, jerking suddenly and yelling he grabs the bedside clock and launches it. Sherlock rising up on his knees at John's sudden yell and twisting around only to see the same person John does and jerks back in shock, falling off the side and onto the floor.

Sitting on the bed, legs spread and arms propping him up John heaves and stares, mouth open and heart pounding as he checks to make sure the sheet is still covering him.

Sherlock pops his head up next to the bed but goes no further as he is not dress and glares with venom at the man before them.

Mycroft is hunched over, having done so quickly to avoid the projectile clock that now lay shattered on the floor behind him.

"What the _hell_ are you doing here!" Sherlock yells but all John can do is stare, like a deer in headlights his brain can't process the fact that he and Sherlock have just been caught red handed, by Sherlock's older brother no less, and he can't fathom at all how he feels about it.

"I came to check in, you neglected to pick up young Rosemund and I was endeavoring to find out why. You have no cases of interest and Greg has nothing on, I thought I might help." Mycroft said, standing up and gently pressing the wrinkles from his suit.

"More like spy." Sherlock mumbles before he grabs the comforter off the bed and wraps it around himself, standing and beelining for his brother on the other side of the bed.

"Have you forgotten yourself or is it no longer common courtesy to call or knock prior to entering someone's room, least of all their home!" and Mycroft sighs and rolls his eyes before turning to meet the angry gaze of his little brother.

"No need to be so angry, Sherlock, I had no intention of ruining your morning festivities. Nor did I have the slightest clue as to what you and your...blogger….where up to."

John turns his head to look at Mycroft, continues to stare though his eyes narrow a little, thoughts and words still escaping him.

"I will just wait in the kitchen, shall I?"

"How about, no. Get out!" Sherlock barks and Mycroft simply turns away and heads for the door, "No, I think it best I stay, it seems we have much to discuss. Such as changing your safety priority to level Red. Do be a good boy and help Doctor Watson into his pants, I believe he has forgotten how to stand."

Sherlock's teeth clench as he slams the door behind his brother and then leans against it a moment, eyes closed as he rolls his lips together and reluctantly looks over to John, not at all sure how the man will react to suddenly having their relationship one step closer to the public's eye.

John continues to stare, trying to digest the fact that he was just caught in the bed of another man, by Mycroft Holmes and ever so slowly he peers over to look at his friend, eyes still wide, mouth open and Sherlock says softly, " Sorry." the meaning behind the apology seemingly both on behalf of his brother's intrusive nature and for the proverbial cat being let out of the bag.

Sherlock knows they had yet to reach a point where they would discuss whether or not to go public with this. Sherlock did not care either way as long as he could have John in his life. He would take it to his grave or announce it on the highest building in London. Whatever John wanted, he would do.

However, now that Mycroft knew the man would feel the need to tell those he deemed it necessary to tell. Sherlock's parents, Lestrade, his minions….all would need an update so they could more carefully "monitor" the situation.

 _Intrusive, inhumane, rude, vindictive, sniveling, compulsive, overbearing, controlling, offensive piece of-_

"Let's get this over with-" John sighs out as he brings a hand to rub at his brow, his jaw clenching and Sherlock slowly leans up from the door and walks over to him, kneeling down on the ground, his blanket still secured around him.

"I can make him leave. We don't have to tell him anything, you don't have to bare his scrutiny-"

"No, Sherlock. Of all the people who could find out, I should have expected it would have been Mycroft. Just glad it wasn't Greg who walked in."

Sherlock gives a soft nod and John swallows as he says softly, "Hey-" Sherlock looking up at him, "I'm not….not ashamed, you know that right? Of this?" and he motions between them and then says, "I just, wanted to have some time for us to...you know." and Sherlock nods again.

"Perhaps, if we are truthful, we can keep this from getting out of hand, put the fire out before it can spread and do damage."

"I didn't want people to know, because I don't want to deal with the chaos that would follow, you know it would. The famous hat detective and his blogger, in bed together, it's right out of a gossip column. You remember all the things they have said before, you remember how swiftly they tore you apart. I can handle the scrutiny, the names and lies and anything else….but Rosie...Molly, Mrs. Hudson, they didn't sign up for that."

Sherlock nods and says softly, "I know. I am willing to do whatever you want. Tell no one or tell everyone, I don't care. I just want you to-"

"I know. Now come on, before Mycroft tells the entire British Government you're shagging your blogger."

 **PAGE BREAK**

The three sit in pensive silence, John and Sherlock in their prospective seats, Mycroft sitting on a kitchen chair, hands folded over his umbrella as his eyes look between them.

"Well?" Mycroft asks suddenly.

"Well what?" Sherlock snaps, his fingers drumming quickly on the arms of his chair, John holding a coffee mug to his lips though he has yet to take a drink.

"I would appreciate an update on the current situation." Mycroft says with a cock of his brow.

"You need no such thing, you just want to pry and mock, as is your want to do when you are bored or I have done something you were unable to predict." and Sherlock gives a forced smirk, dripping in contempt and Mycroft rolls his eyes.

"As ever dear brother, may I remind, you are not that interesting. I simply wish to know where you two stand with one another. Do I need to be concerned with this new situation or can you two handle it and work it out amongst yourselves."

John cocks his head to look at the man before he clears his throat, sets his coffee aside and leans forward, "Excuse me, _what_?" and he snaps out the 'what' as if Mycroft has just insulted him with a slur.

Mycroft looks to John and gives that reptilian smile, "Ah, so he speaks. Tell me Doctor Watson, what is your intention towards my brother? Do I need to be concerned about an abrupt departure?"

John feels his eyes narrow, his hands fisting on the arms of his chair as his angry smirk, the one that comes when the anger builds inside and he isn't sure just how he wants to let it out.

"Interesting. If I didn't know any better I would say you're worried."

"Worried?" Mycroft parrots in confusion.

"Yeah, bout Sherlock. About what you walked in on and whether or not it was a onesie or something else entirely. Not sure how to handle the situation, your brother being in a serious relationship."

"Preposterous." Mycroft says as he glares at the man.

John leans back in his chair, crosses his arms and brings a finger to his lips in thought, "No, that's it isn't it-" and he looks to Sherlock who is glancing at him and smiling as if John has found the world's greatest joke.

"Scares you a bit, him relying on someone else, him forming such a strong bond with someone else. Well, no need to worry. I'm not going anywhere. You, Sherlock? You going anywhere?"

"No." Sherlock says with a smirk before his blue eyes look to his brother and harden, "See, all done, taken care of, John and I are madly in love and won't be counting last night among those that we regret. Now, if you would be so kind as to extricate yourself from our home, we have things to do, none of which involve you, see yourself to the door, brother dear." Sherlock says happily as he stands and straightens his suit.

Mycroft sighs and stands, though he does looks to Sherlock and John sees the barest hint of concern in the corner of his eyes, "I will be raising your level of protection to code red. I will also place Miss. Hooper, Mrs. Hudson, baby Rosamund and the Detective Inspector there as well. I will have to inform our parents-"

"Nope." Sherlock says, popping the P and moving to the door to pull it open, "They need to know, Sherlock. They deserve to know." Mycroft argues though John doesn't understand why they would deserve to know such a thing as their son's sex life.

"Sorry, Mycroft. Unless John decides to take things public, we shall remain under the radar, preferably forever, as it would make romancing possible female suspects impossible if they thought me gay."

"But, you are-"

" _Just_ a label, brother. You shouldn't think to hard on such things given your own preferences or lack thereof. Besides, if you tell anyone about our relationship, I will have to return the favour."

Mycroft looks accosted and his lips thin as he says, "I don't know what you mean."

"Don't you? I should like to have a conversation with Miss. Hooper, see what she thinks of you saying such a thing. It was the muffins wasn't it, they are delicious though not conducive to that waistline you try so hard to maintain."

Sherlock takes a step back and holds the door open wider, his brother staring at him in utter horror before he swallows, "Very well, not a soul, but you must do me the same kindness."

"Of course." Sherlock says softly with a small bow of his head before his arm swings down in front of him and motions for his brother to leave.

Mycroft does so and Sherlock slams the door behind him, tucking his hands into his pockets as his eyes glance up at John and he bites his bottom lip.

John looks shocked, before he says, "No, not Molly….Molly Hooper?"

"Molly Hooper." Sherlock says with an admiring smirk at the thought before he crosses back to his chair and plops down with a rather satisfied smile on his face.

"What? When? How the hell-"

"I don't know. But I wasn't lying, if he wants to maintain his figure he should not eat that woman's pastries."

John lets out a shocked blast of a laugh before he motions to the door, "Your brother...and Molly Hooper….how did you even-"

"Last time we were in the lab I could smell his cologne. I thought perhaps he paid her a visit to make sure she was recovering from the events of Sherrinford, but-"

"But?" John asks, nearly on the edge of his seat.

"Well, the British Government doesn't oft smell so strongly like strawberries and coconut." and Sherlock's smile is contagious, John bursting out into laughter and they laughed like young school boys at the lunacy of it.

John had to clear his throat multiple times before he managed to calm himself and asked, "So, you think it's serious? Or is he just trying it out?"

"Not sure, but the look of utter fear in his eyes the mention of me telling our parents will scare him into silence, no worries there."

John nods before he says softly, "Thanks. For that." and he motions with his head to the door behind him, "Wasn't near as bad as I thought it would be." and Sherlock looks at him with that kind face he often gets when John shares something he normally wouldn't.

"Like I said, not ashamed, but I'd like some time to...you know."

"Of course." Sherlock says with a nod.

"Can I ask, what did you mean by that….the comment about labels...about Mycroft's preferences?"

Sherlock seemed to think a moment, deciding if he should share before he finally says softly, "It's an interesting thing, my brother and I, people always want to label everything. Gay, straight, bisexual, man, woman, child...in retrospect it makes sense. With labels comes understanding, you know what something is so you can categorize it, sum it up, understand what it is and what its function is by one simple word."

"Yeah, and?" John asks, waiting to see where Sherlock could possibly be going with this.

"What you need to be asking is, does it truly matter? Gay, Straight? Man? Woman? In the grand scheme of things, I suppose for the sake of clarity and organization, yes. But, the essence of a person, being put down to one word? No, it won't do."

John thinks about it a moment and then says, "So, you're saying-"

"My interest in you, just like Mycroft's sudden interest in Molly, it has nothing to do with whether we are straight or gay, whether we are man or woman. It just is. I could have just as easily fallen in love with a woman, or a person who was transgender or even a dog."

"Thaaat's a stretch." John winces and Sherlock rolls his eyes, "It's not about the _labels_ John, it's about who we like, about who we connect with the best and who we love."

"That's it then, isn't it, you have no preferences. You just….love who you love." and John finds it the most absurdly simple and yet seemingly most intricate way to look at things.

"As do you." Sherlock says and John looks up in surprise, "You're not gay, John, at least not by the labels with which are used in normal society. Seven years of chasing after women, marrying Mary, having a child with her, I suppose at this moment you would either be labeled bi-curious or simply confused. But, that just leads us back to the question of whether or not you love me."

John stares a moment and then says softly, "I do, yeah, I really do." he muses as he thinks about it, still shell shocked from admitting it so openly though he has done it several times before.

"Then there you have it, just like myself and like Mycroft-"

"You love who you love." John finishes with a knowing smirk and Sherlock gives one single nod before he takes up his coffee and sips on it casually. John is left to silently admire the wisdom and logic that makes up his friend, Sherlock Holmes.

 **PAGE BREAK**

The day had progressed rather uneventfully and around noon John had traveled out to pick up Rosie. Upon his return Sherlock was setting the table for dinner though John noted the man had not wiped down the table or used clean plates.

He had set Rosie in the front room so that he could switch it all out, putting the dirty plates back in the sink with a smirk before pulling out the clean few from the cabinet. Minutes later Sherlock walked in with take away and set it out so they could grab their dinner as they wanted it.

They fed Rosie, Sherlock gave her a wash and then as they had done so many times before, John put her to bed while Sherlock played his violin.

When she was out John and Sherlock descended the stairs with baby monitor in hand and headed straight for Sherlock's room.

 **Page Break**

"John, John, no more, please-" Sherlock pants heavily and John kisses the man's back as he moans, "Oh yes, one more, just one more, love." and John's hands tighten on Sherlock's hips as he pulls out and rams back in, his hips not stopping as he reaches for his own end.

He feels Sherlock's body underneath him shaking horribly, the man already having cum several times, much to John's satisfaction. The man is on his hands and knees as John has taken a position behind and he doesn't stop thrusting, dropping down to press his chest to Sherlock's back, both are covered in sweat and red in the face.

Sherlock cums abruptly, unable to help himself giving the sensitivity of his prostate and John moans again when he feels the man's muscles pull tight around his length.

"God yes, one more S-Sherlock, one more for me-"

"This is intolerable!" Sherlock barks with anger and John chuckles, "No, no it's not, one more just ooooone more, I'm almost there, almost there just one more, Sherlock, for me-" and John picks up his pace, pressing harder, moaning as he feels his end coming hard.

As he gets closer Sherlock's arms slip out from under him and he faceplants into the pillow, hands gripping on either side of his head painfully hard as his body goes one more time, the man sounding like he is nearly sobbing and John spills over, cuming hard as a bright light explodes in front of his eyes and he grunts, groans and growls, nails digging into the man's hips and dragging down and up the front of Sherlock's thighs.

Sherlock collapses seconds later, chest heaving and his body utterly useless, as John slowly withdrawals and maneuvers to lay on his back next to his partner.

"That. Was. Fantastic." John pants, "Yeah, absolutely bloody amazing."

Sherlock mumbles something incoherent and John glances over, "What?"

The man barely manages to raise his head before he says, "A recurring theme of yours, rather bad habit too."

"What is?"

"Telling me how amazing I am, thought we were beyond you telling me things I already know."

John chuckled and sighed, "Yeah, I suppose I do that."

"You do." Sherlock said before he rolled onto his back and splayed his arms and legs.

John glanced over and then did a double take, "Jesus, that...is a mess." he winces as he looks away.

"Well you made me orgasm five times, I ejeculated several of those times, couldn't be helped."

Thinking a moment John cleared his throat, "Have to do something about that."

"Mmmm, perhaps a cup."

John lazily rolled his head to look at his friend for a moment and then burst out into laughter, Sherlock's deep chuckle following, "Fucked up, mate, definitely a bit not good."

 **PAGE BREAK**

 _John's running in place, surrounded by darkness, no signs of life and he thinks he will choke on the black inky nothing surrounding him._

 _A blinding light shines on him, he is a beacon in the night and he keeps running, trying to escape but from what he doesn't know._

 _He keeps loosing his breath, his heart keeps pounding and he can't stop running. Suddenly a voice echoes, "Don't you run from me! Get back here!" the voice screams and John feels tears burn at his eyes, a strangled sob erupting from his throat as he tries move faster._

 _In the distance, a light finally appears, looking like nothing but a pin hole in the dark but he runs for it, reaching out a hand and yelling, trying to acknowledge that tiny glint of hope so far away in the darkness._

" _DON'T RUN FROM ME! COME BACK HERE! GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE!"_

" _No, no, nonononono!" John whines out as he sees the soft glow of red light from behind, the color of blood, it slowly leaks into the foreground, only the blackness around that pinhole remaining._

 _Heat suddenly licks at his back, burns the hair on his neck, melts the heels of his shoes._

" _Fuck, no, no!" and he hears that acidi voice whispering, "_ _Gently take the ship to shore-"_

 _That wicked, evil voice that tries to be so soothing but just makes him want to cringe._

" _Tell the sailors she's no more." and the laugh that follows makes him scream._

" _And when the white bird starts to sing-"_

 _John yells desperetly, "Go the fuck away! Get out of my head!"_

" _You know you've reached your home, come home to me John, come home to me-"_

" _GO FUCK YOURSELF!" and he swings his arms, pumps his feet and aims for that pin hole, which seems to grow bigger the harder he runs._

" _COME BACK!" the voice screams, "Come home to me!"_

 _Finally, the small pin hole starts to grow and John sees a silhouette there, the red light trying to invade but the darkness holds firm, the white light pressing it out and keeping the angry red leakage away._

 _His eyes focus on it, his heart longs for it and he knows who the man is in the distance, "Christ! Sherlock!" and his voice echoes around him, pounding his ears as it ricochets of invisible walls._

" _John!" he hears that voice, the voice he knows, the one he trusts, the one he wants to hear until the end of his days, because within that voice he has found salvation so many times, found forgiveness and understanding, found friendship and family._

" _Sherlock!" he yells again, another bombardment ringing in his ears and he reaches his hand out again, seeing Sherlock reach out as well._

" _No! Not him! The demon before you, the demon of lies! He cannot have you! He cannot take you away from me!" the monster behind him hisses but John ignores the screams, ignores the monster and with his last bit of strength gives a might jump._

" _Sherlock!"_

"John! Wake up, John!" and he does, rolling away and ripping clean of the hands that hold him, jerking out of the bed and stumbling in the dark.

He loses his balance, disorientation taking him to the ground where he then scrambles to get up, his hands clawing at the floor and feet kicking as he moves wildly before his shoulder collides with a wall and he is sent back to the ground.

The silence is stunning, only his heavy breathing filling the air before he lets out a cough and then a sob follows.

"A fucking dream, not another dream, I can't do this again!" and his fist slams the floor and he shoves himself up, getting to his feet but stumbling again as he tries to orient himself in the dark.

He is caught by a pair of hands and instantly jerks back, "John-"

"Oh god, god S-Sherlock….I'm sorry, I'm s-so sorry." John wheezes as he sucks in air and his hands reach out in front of him.

He feels the bare chest of his companion who he instantly clings to. John's legs give, feeling like nothing more than glue but Sherlock guides him down easy and they sit on the floor in the dark.

"Easy now, I'm right here. It was just a dream, only a nightmare, I'm right here." Sherlock soothes, holding the man to him even as John sags and he lets out another sob, "I can't do this. It was supposed to be over, this was supposed to be done, supposed to be…."

Sherlock shushes him, brings a hand to his face and his cheek to the top of John's head, "It's going to take time, Rome wasn't built in a day, and trauma cannot be erased overnight. We have all the time in the world, we will manage this, fix it, I will find a way to fix it."

"This can't be fixed, I can't be fixed, this is me now, a sniveling coward, a traumatized victim of some sick pedophile. I don't want to be this, I don't want to be his-"

"You are nothing but the sum of your parts and all your parts, are good and true, courageous and loyal, brave and kind….you will make it through this, I will make sure you do." Sherlock says with certainty.

"You can't be my blanket, Sherlock. I can't slow you down, I can't expect you to put your life on hold every time I have a break down. You shouldn't have to live with my baggage. Shouldn't have to."

"Nonsense, I finally have you all to myself, you really think I would let go of my best friend?"

Suddenly a noise is heard from the baby monitor and Rosie begins to call for John, both men sighing and chuckling softly, "Alright, not all to myself, but I don't mind sharing." Sherlock amends with amusement.

"God, what did I ever do to deserve you." John whispers.

Sherlock smiles into his hair before saying softly, "Everything."

 **PAGE BREAK**

The early morning is tense. Sherlock goes up to see to Rosie, the girl having been woken by the sounds of John and his stumbling. The blonde man is in the shower, gazing at the water, watching as the brown color slowly circles the drain.

He looks behind him, half expecting to see Mary or even his younger self but his subconscious remains silent.

 _Finally on my own then,_ he muses though for the first time he wishes he wasn't, he could really use the advice of himself right now, surely a paradox to think such a thing.

The door to the bathroom opens and Sherlock pops his head in, "I got Rosie back to sleep." and John nods as he looks to his friend, mouth open and ready to thank him only to stop when he sees his friends face.

"What the hell, Sherlock, your eye-" the bruise runs from the bridge of his nose on the right side down under his eye and circles around the outer edge and up over the top, stopping just above the center.

"Don't worry-"

"No, do not make excuses for me, this is unacceptable. You shouldn't….I didn't mean to-"

"I know." Sherlock says softly and John turns away and brings his hands to his face, "Oh my god." he whispers.

John doesn't notice the shuffling and isn't aware Sherlock has joined him until he feels two hands come to rest on either of his shoulders, John trying to pull away from the touch but Sherlock gently pulling him back.

"I know you are angry, but the last thing you should do right now is pull away from me. You need to talk about this, however you want, whenever you are ready, but you need to talk about it."

"You never talk about anything." John muses sarcastically though he doesn't mean it in the slightest.

"Ah, but I do not tend to punch my lovers in the face while I am having a nightmare."

"No, you just start a house fire." John pouts.

"Only one, and only because you were dating the teacher and you didn't have time for me, I wanted to talk about it though."

"But you wouldn't have."

Sherlock remains silent a moment before he says, "No, probably not, but I wouldn't have pulled away from you. I would have found a way to show you what I couldn't say-"

"Like starting a house fire." John says with annoyance and Sherlock sighs, "Yes, granted there are more practical ways, but it got your attention. You remained at home the next two weeks didn't you?"

John turns to look at him, the water hitting his back and trickling down his body to the drain, "How many of my girlfriends did you actively try to chase off through bids for attention?"

"Honestly?"

John nods and Sherlock looks guilty, extremely guilty, "All of them."

Smirking, the shorter man reaches up and threads his fingers into his companions hair, pulling his face down closer as he says adamantly, "Just for that, I am topping for the next week."

Sherlock looks terrified and exhales, "You must be joking."

"No, I have found out way too much about how often you had control over me and my life this past week, I want a little revenge. A weeks worth of topping, that's about twenty-eight orgasms for you, nearly makes up for all the ones I missed out on when you systematically chased all of my lady friends away."

"I couldn't possibly preform-"

"You're going to." John says and he leans in and gently kisses Sherlock's mouth before pulling away and bringing their foreheads together, "Thanks, mate." he murmurs.

Sherlock just nods, those blue eyes staring into his and John smiles, "We are going to need a lot of cups." to which Sherlock's smile suddenly turns into a frown and he lets out a groan.

 **A/N: Hope you enjoyed that, sorry the editing was so poor but I was trying to get this up quickly as you have been waiting for quite awhile. Read and Review.**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Sorry I keep posting chapters to this, but it never really feels done and I keep getting ideas to flush out the story more. (apologetic smile) Anyway, here is another chapter….really need to wrap this story up….it was supposed to be a one-shot…..good grief.**

 **WARNINGS: Warnings in this chapter are a little more serious, so be advised. Dream sequence of a disturbing nature involving minor and not detailed molestation. Swearing, assault on a corpse, and Sally Donovan. Reader be warned.**

 **Read and review if you like, much appreciated for the support I've been given thus far.**

 **Chapter 6**

 **Mountains and Valleys**

When the knock sounds at the door, John and Sherlock look up, the detective having been on his phone while John was browsing the paper and Rosie played at his feet with her blocks. Mrs. Hudson stands in the doorway, a small smile on her face, "You've got a visitor."

From around Mrs. Hudson's legs a messy mop of hair appears and Sherlock stands as he sets his phone aside, "Well, hello, _Macey_." Sherlock says gently, emphasising the name to get John's full attention.

The little girl smiles and instantly rushes to him, wrapping her arms around him, her head coming to rest just above his hips as she laughs.

Mrs. Hudson brings a hand to her chest and a smile brushes her lips before she turns and leaves, not bothering to say how adorable the scene is as it would only make Sherlock say something crude to ruin the moment.

The little girl looks up and asks in surprise, "Uncle Lock, what happened to your eye?" the nick name is sudden, given he has only ever met the girl once before, but Sherlock does not dissuade her from using it as he finds it rather suiting.

"Pirates." Sherlock says matter-of-factly and Macey gasps, "I knew it! I told sissy they were coming, she never listens to me." Sherlock chuckles and then clears his throat, retaining the gentle voice he often reserves for children only.

"Macey, does your sister know you are here?" Sherlock admonishes gently and the girl looks up and shakes her head yes, though at the doubtful look from Sherlock the girl slowly shakes her head no.

"But I have reasons!"

"Oh yes, and what would those be?" Sherlock asks with a smirk.

"It's bring your daughter to work day, and my sissy brought me! I'm not her daughter but she says it don't matter, so I got all pretty and went with her to show off how good a sister I am! She took me to the Yard and I got doughnuts and sweets and juice and wonderful presents from Mr. Greg and Andy. I asked if you would be there but sissy said you don't come to the yard unless you are invited so I came to invite you!"

John finally stands, picking Rosie up and coming to stand before the girl who looks over at him and smiles, "You shot my daddy!" she laughs and John makes a face at such a strange reaction to such a traumatizing event.

John swallows and says, "Yes, about that….sorry?"

"It's fine, I didn't like him, he wasn't very nice, he always yelled and said bad things to sissy and he always locked me in my room without dinner. Sissy says he is burning in-"

"Oooookay, why don't we go and see your sister, hmm?" Sherlock asks as he picks her up and the girl wraps her arms around his neck, "Yes, I cordily invite you to the yard for daughter day!" the girl laughs.

"It's pronounced cordially, and you realize this party is for people who actually work at the yard, yes?"

Macey thinks on this a moment and then suddenly points to Rosie, "Who is that?"

John smirks, "This is, Rosemund, she is-" he looks to Sherlock and says softly, "She is our daughter."

Sherlock smiles back, a hand releasing it's hold on Macey long enough to stroke a finger down Rosie's cheek who gives a small screech and laughs happily.

"You're a detective right?" Macey suddenly asks Sherlock and the man nods, "Yes."

"Then you are perfect, a daughter to bring and a detective to boot, any one gives you grief for going and I will set them straight! Besides, sissy says you work harder than half the lot she works with and do the same thing twice as well, you deserve sweets and juice too!"

"Siss- uhm, Sally said that?" John asks in surprise.

"Yeah, though she always seems so angry when she says it."

"And that is called resentment!" Sherlock teaches happily.

"Sherlock-" John warns, "Not good, mate."

"Ah well, it's all in good fun. Alright Macey, you've got us, let's head to the yard!"

 **PAGE BREAK**

John had called Greg to let him know where Macey had ended up, something that had relieved everyone at the Yard who had been frantically looking for the girl.

They arrived shortly after and entered the building, following the path they knew to reach Greg's office where a very frazzled Sally was waiting. She rushed to Sherlock, taking Macey in her arms and squeezing her, "Silly girl, what were you doing leaving like that! You are in so much trouble! How did you even know where to go?"

"I looked him up in Mr. Greg's files, but you know what?"

"What?" Sally asks.

"I don't think Mr. Greg can spell because Mr. Holmes was under the name cock-"

"Aaaand that's enough cake for you, no more mobile either." Sally says, giving an apologetic glance to Sherlock though John had covered his mouth with a hand and tried not to laugh out loud.

Sherlock sighed and looked at her, "I assume that took place after the Dillen case?"

"Yeah, shouldn't have gone behind his back then, should ya?" Sally says matter-of-factly before her hard eyes soften and she leans in and says quietly, "Thank you…."

"Sherlock if you like, Mr. Holmes if you prefer." he says and he raises a hand to Macey and pokes her nose, "And it was my pleasure."

"I invited Uncle Lock and Uncle John cause they are detectives too, and look, they have a daughter!" Macey points to Rosie who holds up a hand and reaches out for Sally's hair.

"Is that…"

"Uh, yeah, yes this is...this is my daughter, Rosemund Mary…" but he trails off and clears his throat.

"She is brilliant, John." Sally says but before she can say anything else Greg walks up, "Ah, found the little sprout didja? You know you gave your sister a fright running off like that."

"You were scared, sissy?" and Sally sighs before saying, "Yes, please don't leave me again without telling me where you are going, better yet, make sure that Greg, me or Anderson are with you, alright?"

"Okay."

"Good girl, now come on, the party's still goin'-" and Sally spares the boys a glance, "You two can come, if ya like. Got a daughter and all and ya do help the yard, on occasion." and she says the last part with narrow eyes and a challenging glare.

Greg looks to them and smiles as Sally walks away, "Well look at that, she was halfway decent to ya...the bloody hell happened to your face, looks like you got trounced by a junkie."

John looks to Sherlock and the man tightens his jaw before saying flatly, "Pirates." he than motions with his hand, "Shall we go?" and John sighs, "Well, we are here and Rosie could use some time around other children so, yeah, let's go." John starts walking, Sherlock following suit with Greg bringing up the rear, the man noticing as his brow wrinkles that Sherlock places his hand on the small of John's back.

 **Page Break**

While the Yard is still first and foremost a place of crime solving and forensics and it is within normal operating hours, a surprisingly large amount of people have brought in their daughters.

The adults come and go as they still have work to do and the whole point is to show their offspring what they do whilst away at work, many of the children have been ushered into a large conference room where they run, scream, play and get hopped up on sweets and juice.

Some wonder off and return, seeking out their parents to check in and see what they are doing before getting bored and coming back to eat more sweets and then run it off.

To John's immense relief there are at least three other children around Rosie's age, on the verge of starting to understand and more thoroughly interact with the world around them but not quite at the point of talking and running.

He stands close by while conversing with the other parents and manages to get a few numbers in hopes of setting up playdates for Rosie. To his surprise, there are few who are reluctant, either not having interacted with Sherlock enough to be terrified at the prospect of the man coming to pick up Rosie, or those who have known him long enough to assess him as not a threat.

Sherlock stands next to John, not really paying attention, his eyes either scanning the room and observing the people or glancing to John and staring gently.

Greg has been watching the two from the far side of the room, Sally standing next to him.

"Ya know, I didn't notice anything the other day during the Sean Pence case but now that I look, something seems different about those two."

Sally snorts before sipping at her drink, "There is always something different about those two. You should be more worried if the something different is good or bad."

"No, I mean look, look how close Sherlock is standing to 'im. And he keeps giving him a weird look, like he is...smitten or somethin'. It's...odd."

Sally clears her throat and says, "Do you really want to think about it? I don't want to think about it, kind of creeps me out."

"Oh come on, after all 'es done for ya and you still wanna be like that?" Greg admonishes as he looks at her.

"No, course not, he's an alright bloke, I got my priorities settled where Sherlock is concerned."

"Ah, look at that, ya said his name and you didn't melt."

Sally rolls her eyes and sneers at him, "What I mean is, it's none ah your business if they are...close. They've known each other a long time, maybe it just sort of happened."

Greg stares a moment at the two across the room and what Sally means finally becomes clear in his head, causing his jaw to drop and he looks at her, "Ah, no! That's not what I...that's just wrong! I didn't mean they are….they would have…"

"So you're a homophobe, always wondered about that, considering your son is-"

"Hey, no!" he snaps adamantly, "Not against a thing, to each his own and live and let live and all that rubbish, I don't care about it, doesn't bother me…."

"Then why you making such a big deal about-"

"It's John!" Greg says suddenly and Sally glances around to see a few people have looked their way, Sherlock and John included.

Greg rubs the back of his head and waves a reluctant hand in their direction, John nodding and returning to his conversation, though Sherlock's sharp blue eyes continue to stare.

Turning away from them, Sally follows suit though she gives him a look, "Sneaky blighter can read lips."

And Sally goes a little pale at the thought, "Now look, I don't care...either way….I really don't. I love my son no matter what and you know damn well I have been nothin' but supportive. Even when he brought home that one with the hair...and the…"

"Gages, they are called gages, Greg." Sally says, trying to hide her smile.

"Right, whateva' but my _point_ is, I don't see John...no, I just don't see it. He ain't….he's been spitting off for years that he isn't….that they aren't…."

"So why does it bother you so much? It was just a thought, you were the one who pointed out the way they been actin' in the first place. If you don't wanna know, why bloody ask?"

A conversation between him and Sherlock pops into his head and he hears the tone in Sherlock's voice, suddenly more revealing than it had been before.

 _"Did something happen? Is there something going on I don't know about?"_

 _"Yes."_

 _"Well? What is it?"_

 _"I can't tell you."_

 _"What?"_

 _"I can't, I am sorry, but I promised John I would keep it between us."_

 _"Sherlock….I know...I know you and John are friends….good friends-"_

 _"The best."_

Greg muses on that a moment before he nods, "Yeah, 'sppose your right."

"I am. Besides Greg, it's just a label." and they both glance over when they hear a baby cry out, John reaching down to pick up Rosie and Sherlock moves closer, placing a hand on John's shoulder while he leans in and gently cooes to the child. John smiles, gives the man a long look before leaning in and whispering something into his ear, Sherlock looking at him in surprise before he smiles, their foreheads just barely touch.

"Shit." Greg says and Sally clears her throat and looks away, "Right, juice, I need more juice-"

"Got a bottle in the office, add some oh that ta mine."

"Yeah, lots, lots and lots." she says as she walks to the table covered in foodstuffs and drinks, Greg spying the two one more time before he rubs a hand over his mouth and pulls out his phone.

"Gotta call him every bloody time, can't spare me two seconds ta just tell me when things change, gotta go find the answers my bloody self, stupid smarmy twit-"

 **PAGE BREAK**

He is in his office with Sally when Sherlock walks in, a hard look in his eyes and a frown on his face. He enters to find Greg in his chair behind his desk with a foot on the corner, Sally leaning against the wall, both with drinks in their hands.

"Who told you, was it Mycroft?" Sherlock snaps as he slams the door shut behind him and smacks his hands down on the desk before him.

Greg eyes the man a moment, never having seen Sherlock look both angry and desperate at the same time.

"Tell me!" Sherlock says angrily.

Greg stares a moment and says with a smirk, "Told me what?" he sees the barest trace of confusion on the man's face and even though he knows this is a delicate matter he can't stop the smile that just barely graces his lips.

 _I love when I can confuse the bastard._

Sherlock looks to Sally and spits venomously, "You too, huh? Well, so much for friendship you wicked-"

"Oy! None of that, Sally ain't done nothing so don't take it out on 'er."

Sherlock looks to the woman who is glaring at him and Sherlock hangs his head and sighs, "I apologize, the matter is very...delicate...I did not mean to-"

"S'alright." Sally murmurs before she takes another drink.

Sherlock looks between them and says in annoyance, "Have you two been drinking?"

Greg looks to Sally who suddenly smiles and gives a little snort as Greg chuckles, "S'bout right, what with you and John kickin off on a proper relationship, we thought it deserved a toast."

Sherlock stills and both could see his face pale, something that they had never witnessed before, "So, you do know. Was is Mycroft, did he-"

"Naw, figured it out myself."

"Hard not to with the way ya two were pawing each other." Sally says under her breath.

"Excuse me?" Sherlock says looking to her with wide eyes.

"Calm down, Sherlock. It wasn't that obvious, just, something I noticed….something I _observed_." he said with a tip of his drink in Sherlock's direction.

Sherlock looks between them a moment before he says softly, "What do I need to do to keep this quiet. Name it, anything." he says quickly.

"What? You want to bribe us into secrecy-"

"Well that's offensive." Sally says as she takes another sip.

"You do not understand, the events leading up to our...change in relations is private and for John very traumatic. I won't have him or Rosie exposed to the disrespectful, filthy and cruel eyes of the public. I know what they do to people who are different, to people who are...my friends. I do not want him, Rosie, Molly, Mrs. Hudson….or you….you're family...exposed to the vulturous media or the public's eyes just for association with me. You don't deserve it….and neither does John… he can't...right now... _just_ for now….he isn't strong enough. I won't let them hurt him or anyone I care about."

This stills Greg to the core, the look in Sherlock's eyes exposing something he has never really seen before, fear, the man is honestly afraid of what might befall those he cared about if news of their new situation were to get out.

"You of all people know, Greg, it's not just the media….I have... enemies. Real enemies who would do anything to take revenge or try and hurt me...John is…." and Sherlock stops, looks at Sally and then back before he swallows and reluctantly admits, "He is my everything, if I lose him, there is no coming back for me."

Greg digests this, all pretense for fun, games or teasing have ended and Greg knows that in this moment, he has to be the friend he always tried to be, though was often rejected. Sherlock was reaching out a hand, testing the waters of their friendship, however shaky and turbulent it might always seem to be.

Well, Greg wasn't going to disappoint, "You have my word, I won't say a thing, Sally too, we take it to our graves." Sherlock looks to the woman who nodds, the look on her face one of confusion, respect and finally, the smallest glimmer of understanding.

"Thank you." Sherlock says softly.

Greg and Sally nod and just then the door opens, John entering with Rosie in arm as Macey rushes by and rounds the desk, Greg picking her up and glancing at the two men.

John approaches, "Got a funny story for you. Make you laugh uncharacteristically long."

"Promise?" Sherlock asks with a small smile.

"Yeah. No doubt, Greg, Sally, thanks for letting us come up. Got some good numbers, Rosie is going to have all kinds of fun, won't you Rosie? All kinds of fun?" the girl looks happier than ever and claps her hands together as she giggles.

John glances at the three and his smile fades, "Everything alright in here? You three look like you've seen a ghost."

"Ah, just talking old cases. Nothing too exciting." Sherlock presses off casually.

"Leave it to you to be the life of the party." John teases.

"Never been my strong suit, parties, always so noisy."

"Mmm, yeah, considering you're the loudest one in the room."

"You two have a good night, thanks for stopping by." Greg says as he raises a glass to them and Sherlock nods his head while John smirks, "See ya round?"

"Definitely." and the man takes a long drink from his cup as Sally raises a brow and follows suit.

Suddenly John's phone rings and without thinking he says, "Sherlock, take her a minute, love. I gotta just find my, there it is...who could be calling-" the man completely oblivious to his slip and Sherlock stares at him wide eyed before looking to Greg and giving the subtlest of shakes of his head, the D.I. smirking and trying to hide a snort.

"Hello? Yes, Mycroft, what is it?" the room is silent, and the relaxed look on John's face melts as his brow furrows and the phone drops from his ear, arm hanging dead at his side.

"John?" Sherlock asks, worry gracing his brow and he takes a step closer before John says softly, "He's dead."

Sherlock stops bouncing Rosie, the girl protesting by hitting the man on the head several times but Sherlock just stares and John looks up at him, "The old bastard is dead...my….he...dead." and John drops into a chair by the door and puts his head in his hands.

"Whose dead?" Greg asks as he slowly removes his foot from the desk, raises up Macey to hand her to Sally who makes for the door but decides against it given Sherlock is now kneeling before John and she would have to acrobat around him to escape.

"My...demon." John says softly and Greg looks at the man in confusion before Sherlock places a finger to John's chin and raises his face up, "It's over, John. It's finally over, let's take Rosie home and we can-"

"Mycroft sent his body to Bart's, incase I wanted to….incase-"

"Alright, easy, what do you want to do, anything you want, I will make it happen." Sherlock says, knowing this sudden display of intense emotion is so very unlike John, especially in a public place. This was what Sherlock had meant by John not being strong enough, at least, not right now.

He was currently so caught up in trying to deal with his thoughts and feelings on what had happened to him in his youth, that he was unable to regulate himself around others, even in public, even though the last thing the man before him ever did was show such things to others. It went against everything he knew, everything he had been trained to be, the soldier, the abused child...never show your weakness.

Sherlock knows eventually, John will heal, he will be back to his old stoic self, but it will take time and the last thing either wanted was to make John face the public's eye about _anything,_ cases included, before he was ready to steel himself against their intrusive and harsh eyes.

"I don't understand, who is dead? Is it a case?" Greg asks, not sure if he can be of assistance or if he should leave well enough alone.

"It's my….step-father." John says and he suddenly reaches a hand up, taking Sherlock's in his own before Sherlock joins him and John glances to Sally, "I should have known, when I met you….that you were….that we were the same...that we were both... soldiers."

Sally's mouth parts a little, her brow cocking in question and John shutters out, "My step-father was…"

"Your daddy was mean?" Macey suddenly asks, the adults having forgotten the little girl was in the room.

John clears his throat and looks away for a moment before he says, "Yes, yeah he was." his voice nothing but a soft ghost of a thing.

"John." sherlock says with confidence and the blonde man looks to him, Sherlock adjusting his hold on Rosie as he locks eyes with him, "What do you want to do? I can make it all go away, you don't have to see him, I can arrange everything. An unmarked grave, far away from London. You'd never have to be bothered again to think of him, just tell me what to do and I will do it."

John smiles up at him softly, "Thanks, mate. But, I think this is it, I think this is what I need. To lay the demon to rest. We should drop off Rosie with Mrs. H. Then head to Bart's."

Sherlock nods once, "As you wish."

John looks to Greg and Sally, "Till next time."

"John!" Sally suddenly calls and the man looks past Sherlock to see her staring at him strangely, "If you….ever want to talk….from one soldier to the other...call me up. I got plenty ta bitch about."

"And she is good at it too!" Macey says proudly.

John smirks, nods and then says, "Yeah, alright. See you round, Sally."

"See you." she says softly, her eyes finding Greg's before both watch the duo walk away.

 **PAGE BREAK**

When they reach Bart's, sans Rosie, Molly is waiting for them in the morgue, Mycroft standing beside her and the pair watch Sherlock walk in with John just in front of him.

"Molly." Sherlock says by way of greeting and the woman gives a gentle smile, friendly and polite, the warm familiarity of affection, though platonic, still stands firmly in place and Sherlock winks at her.

"Hullo, Sherlock, what happened to-" but Sherlock shakes his head and she nods though Mycroft seems to shift just the tad bit closer, only Sherlock noticing as John comes to stand before the body.

It is covered in a sheet, John staring and trying to prepare himself for what he will see underneath.

"Does Molly know who this is?" John asks, his eyes never looking away from the covered body before him.

Mycroft nods, though adds as an afterthought, "She knows the relation to you, not the history. That is your story to tell if and when you choose to."

Sherlock nods to his brother, a sign of appreciation for his tact, something the man often forgets during times such as these.

"How'd he….how did he-"

"Heart failure, apparently your subsequent rejection….broke his heart, as it were. Hadn't eaten a morsel since you left...died in his sleep."

"Heh-" John chuckles harshly as he shakes his head, "Not likely, he didn't have a heart...or a soul for that matter."

No one says anything in response and John moves to stand next to the table, eyes hard as he glares at the sheet.

"This is a demon, Molly. A real true demon. Prayed on the souls of children, loved to hurt those who were weaker than him, loved to torture them."

Molly swallows as her eyes find Sherlock's and the man simply gives the faintest shake of his head, compelling her to refrain from speaking, the small woman always on the ready to offer comfort and aid to her friends.

Molly nods back and remains silent, allowing John to spin his metaphor until he is satisfied he has made his point, "No mercy, you never showed any mercy." John whispers, tears in his eyes but they have yet to fall.

He seems to shore himself up, take a deep breath and then looks to Molly and nods, the woman stepping forward and quietly pulling the sheet back and away from the face.

John sucks in a sharp breath, takes a step back and runs into Sherlock's front, the man placing a hand on his shoulder before leaning forward to peer into his friends face, John glancing to him.

"End it." he says sternly, "End it here and now, walk away and leave it all behind, don't look back."

John nods and swallows, steeling himself and doing his best to regulate the emotions that have been controlling him for the last week.

Moving forward again he comes to stand next to the body, looking down into the pasty and dead face of the man who utterly ruined his life in so many ways.

"It took you years to try and break me, but I survived it, with only a few cracks to show for all your efforts. You tried again, it only took you a day to worm your way into my head...but I have a secret old man….this time...you didn't break me at all." and then suddenly John's fist was flying and it crashed into the man's marose face.

Molly jerked forward but Mycroft stilled her with a hand, the woman looking to him before rolling her lips together and taking a step back.

John hit him again, his teeth gritting and his eyes rabid, his punches raining down like a righteous fury from above.

"It wasn't worth it! You bastard, it wasn't worth any of it! Ruined everything, ruined me and Harry and mum and took it all like the greedy glutinous thing you are!" the sound of a breaking jaw, the crack of a skull, the snap of a nose and then finally John stilled, shoulders heaving and face raw with anger and hate.

"I've never hated anyone, not as much as you, and I have no mercy for you...none...you are nothing but a bad dream, a nightmare, haunt me all you want...but you can't touch me anymore...and the anger….that's just for you. You and all those like you." John's eyes snap to Molly and the woman gives a small start, "Cover up that filth, he doesn't deserve to be seen, ever again, by anyone." Molly nods, tears lacing her eyes as a hand comes to her mouth though she remains silent and Mycroft's hand, slowly, as if he is unsure, slides off to come to her side, pulling her a little closer as his eyes stare in shock at the brutalized face before him.

John turns to go but is stopped by Mycroft, the man still staring at the face even after Mollys has moved to cover it.

"Doctor Watson-" and John turns around, Sherlock's hand still on his shoulder, the detective looking back at his brother with narrow eyes.

"I...hate to be _that_ person, but, the body...I should not think you would want me to approach your sister over something so trivial, especially considering her...delicate recovery...what would you like me to do with-"

"Burn it. Send the bastard back to hell where he belongs."

"And the ashes?" Mycroft asks.

John's eyes fall to the sheeted form, hate still burning as he says softly, "Does he have any other family, anyone who might care?"

Mycroft shakes his head once and John snorts, "Course he doesn't. Toss them in the bin. I have no want of that...thing."

 **PAGE BREAK**

It starts raining when they leave the Yard and the ride back to Baker street is silent, the air tense. Sherlock can tell John is still boiling on the inside, still running on hate and rage and thinking about all the things he should have said and done, thinking it wasn't enough, knowing he will have nightmares waiting for him when he goes to sleep.

Sherlock remains silent, paying the cabbie, unlocking the door to their home, holding up a hand to silence Mrs. Hudson when she comes bustling out, the woman nodding and quickly turning around to walk back to her own rooms.

He remains silent as they enter their flat, hangs up both his and John's coats and as he leads John to the bathroom. He is running on autopilot, not sure what he can do if anything at all, processing the turn the day took. Knowing it had started out so promising but that this evening they had taken a very big step backwards and only a small step forwards.

Turning on the water in the tub he plugs the drain and leaves the room, knowing John won't be going anywhere as he continues to silently sit and stew. He returns with candles and incense, something he only has ever used once for a case but still had stashed away, one never knows when they may need a way to hide a melodious odor from their flatmate.

He lights the candles, burns the incense, turns off the lights and then slowly starts undoing John's clothes, the man standing up much the same as a zombie would at Sherlock's gentle order.

He sets John's clothes on the table in the kitchen and then follows suit, soon enough both men bare and Sherlock shuts off the tap before getting in and sitting down. His hand reaches for John and he gives a gentle pull, the man still complying though his eyes are far away and his jaw is set firmly with anger.

It takes a moment, but Sherlock patiently maneuvers and adjusts to comfortably accommodate the man before him, bringing hands to John's shoulders and pulling him back to lay against his chest.

There is just barely enough room, and some water sloshes out, Sherlock musing that if this does work to sooth his partner, he will be sure to invest in a bigger tube in the near future.

They sit there in more silence, steam rising up from the hot water, the flicker of the flames dancing across the wall and the sweet smell of the incense permeating the air.

After awhile he hears John sigh, can feel his body relax a little bit at a time and Sherlock himself feels his own fears slowly creep away.

 _Going to need a bigger tub then…_

Sherlock is not accustomed to bathing with someone, Janeen only ever having sat on the edge and playfully scooped water at him or washing his back. He isn't sure the protocol, has never done something this intimate, still, if he can have sex with the man before him, touch him at his leisure, begin a new and yet turbulent chapter of his life with him, he should be able to try and sooth him.

Slowly he raises a hand, bringing it to rest on John's forehead before dragging fingers back through the man's quaffed hair.

 _Because he puts a bit of product in his hair? I put product in my hair-_

Sherlock smiles and thinks about how much John has changed in the seven, now going on eight years he has known him. His clothes, his hair, his confidence and intelligence, his wit and kindness, all so telling of a man who had come from someplace dark, clawing and fighting to find his place in the light.

He was so quick to seek out the things he was accustomed to, dangerous situations, people who he could protect and ways he could find the adrenaline he had spent his whole life feeling. He was addicted to it, yet, now Sherlock knew, it hadn't been his fault.

John was the product of his environment, a cold harsh reality that had taken a very kind hearted and gentle boy, filled him with rage and sent him out into the world without any means to curb his hardening edges.

 _I will curb them, John has done so much for me, helped me to be better, to see how I was hurting myself by hurting others. He has softened my edges, softened my heart, sharpened my mind...I will return the favour my friend, I will….I will help you be better, just as you have done for me._

Minutes have ticked by and John's hair was officially wet, Sherlock threading his fingers through, occasionally taking a small bit of water in his hand and drizzling it over the top, only to then repeat his soothing gesture of running fingers over his scalp.

His hand was finally stopped by John, the man taking Sherlock's wrist and leading him down to his chest where he pressed Sherlock's palm and lets out another sigh.

"It won't be like this forever, Sherlock. I promise it won't. I will get better, I will be better, a better father, a better friend…"

"Hush, no use telling me what I already know, we've talked about your penchant for stating the obvious, you should try to resist such unneeded platitudes." But Sherlock's voice was gentle, what one person might find an offensive brush off, made John chuckle before his head rolled side to side and he said, "I'll never stop."

"Won't you?" Sherlock asks next to his ear, his voice growing softer, the teasing becoming more evident.

"No."

"Well you should."

"Well stop being so damn amazing and I will." John mumbles sarcastically, his free hand finding Sherlock's under the water and wrapping their fingers together.

Sherlock has nothing he can say to that, only a small smile before his lips brush John's temple, "Feeling better?" he asks as his eyes flutter closed and he finally allows himself to relax completely, finally acknowledging how good it feels to have John pressed against him like this, how soothing and domestic it all is….how much he has been craving something so simple...for far longer than he has known John.

 _I guess we are all learning something about ourselves today-_

"Much." John says.

"How's the kettle? Boiling stopped?" and John let's out a rather lazily laugh, "Look at you, all metaphors and kindness. Unbelievably kind, too kind, makes no sense that, how kind you can be. I mean, I knew, from the moment I met you, I saw it, but it took you a long time to-"

"The kettle, John. How is the kettle?" Sherlock urges, unable to handle the slew of compliments and heart warming, endearing comments. It makes him feel strangely up lifted and adored, but Sherlock refuses to be put on a pedestal. Even he, in all his ignorance, knows such things are unhealthy.

"It's gone from a rolling boil, to a gentle simmer." John says with a sigh, bringing Sherlock's hand up to kiss it gently before he says, "Thank you, for this. It….it helped...bit strange...two grown men sharing a bath, but… it's...nice."

"Mmm." Sherlock agrees, "Need a bigger tub though." the dark haired man muses.

"Yeah. Definitely need a bigger tub."

"I'll order it tomorrow." Sherlock says as he kisses the top of John's head and the man snorts, "What, are you my benefactor now? We don't need a bigger tub, I was just-"

"We do, more of this would be a good thing."

"Yeah, why so?" John asks, cocking his head back to look at his friend curiously.

"Tell me, John. What color is the water?"

John's smile fades and slowly he looks down, seeing their bodies beneath the glassy surface and noticing there is no brown in sight.

 **PAGE BREAK**

They are standing next to the bed, towels around their waists and hands hanging at their sides as they look at each other, "Straight to bed?" Sherlock asks, and John sees the man's eyes dilate in the dim light of the lamp and he smiles gently, "Not if you don't want to. I can, we can have some fun-"

"Only if you feel up to it." Sherlock amends quickly.

"I'm not a child, you don't have to act like I am-"

"I know. I just….it's been a busy day." Sherlock concludes softly and John nods, "That's an understatement. I essentially beat up a dead man, rambled on about demons and scared Molly to high heaven."

"Mmm, scared Mycroft too, loved seeing the horror in his eyes at the prospect of writing off the defilement of a corpse as accidental."

John chuckles, his hands still remaining at his side, though he feels Sherlock's hand come to the fold of his towel and gently his fingers give a flick, the fabric falling away.

"Sherlock-" and the man instantly stills when he hears the tone of John's voice, "Mmm?"

"With everything that has happened, mate...I just… I realize I have been a bad friend...so...I know it's been awhile and you have things mostly sorted….but...I just want to be sure….I mean the thing at Sherrinford was only a few months ago….then this...disaster and I just want to make sure….how are you...with everything? With everything you have found out….about your past….your sister...all the lies...the things you thought you knew not being what you thought they were-"

"I am fine, John. It took me a lot less time to get myself sorted as I have a very thorough big brother and have been able to see my sister as often as I need to try and work through my thoughts on the matter."

"But how could you, after everything she did to you-"

"Honestly, I still don't remember most of it. Whatever things she did to me before she was taken away I am fine to leave buried, I don't want to know, as it could have an adverse effect on my time with her now. But, the main difference John, is Eurus wants to be better, she wants me...Mycroft...my parents in her life, even if she doesn't understand why, even if she will never accept it or understand it...she loves me...in her own way and wants to try to build a real relationship...as twisted as it could become if I am not careful, I do as well. You never wanted that with Wayne….you only wanted escape...and he never gave it to you. You had to fight for it."

"I won in the end, even if he is still in my head, I won." John says bitterly.

"You did. In the end, all you can do is carry on, make your life...your future better. No one will ask of you anything more than to just be happy, and to be who you are."

"I'm not happy, I'm angry...that's who I am, who I have been since he set foot in my life."

"Well then, be angry, but do try to perhaps control it a little better, save me a few blows to the face, hmm?"

John chuckles, his head coming forward to press against Sherlock's shoulder, "I really hate this." John muses dejectedly.

"It's rather a refreshing change from the bottled up stoic hero you were. I've learned loads about you that I never knew before, and sometimes...I like the angry eyes, rather erotic."

John looks up at him with narrow eyes and a frown, "Cock." he says with annoyance.

"Yes, please." Sherlock says softly and John snorts before looking away and shaking his head, Sherlock's deep chuckle vibrating right behind.

 **PAGE BREAK**

 _He is falling through space, the Earth below rushing up to meet him. He doesn't scream, more than likely because he can't, he has no voice. The jarring feeling of falling is making his stomach churn and bubble and he braces for the impact, closing his eyes and turning his face away._

 _His body suddenly jerks to a stop, eyes cracking open when he sees the ground only feet below him and somehow he manages to set his feet gently on the ground. Looking around himself he recognises the location, the lake just outside of his home town._

" _Willow Lake." he says outloud, finally able to find his voice and he wonders how he got here, doesn't understand why he is here just outside of Aldershot._

 _Suddenly voices float to him, the laugh of a young boy and older man and John turns to see that just over the hill less than a kilometer away is Wayne, holding hands and walking with a young John._

" _You don't have to hold my hand, I'm not a child." John says as he tries to pull away but Wayne only chuckles, John finally seeing the man in all his youthful glory. Tall and powerful, with chestnut hair and a smooth handsome face, his stomach twists harshly._

" _I'm not holding your hand cause you are a child." Wayne says._

" _Then why are you?" John counters._

" _Cause that's what friends do." Wayne says and he suddenly takes the lead, guiding young John to an isolated spot amongst bushes and trees, a favorite fishing hole for the usuels who spend their nights here._

" _You ever been night fishing before?" he hears Wayne ask as John starts to trot after them, his heart beating against his chest and his hands sweating._

" _No, you?"_

" _All the time, I know the guys who come here, asked them if we could use it. We won't be bothered all night, just us, just fishing."_

" _Wicked." young John says excitedly._

 _The two settle down on a log near the edge of the water and Wayne starts to worm their lines and chat John up._

 _The older John swallows, not sure he remembers how this ends, not sure he wants to know how this ends and he feels a sudden pull to leave before he does, but his feet won't let him._

 _The sun fades rapidly, too rapidly, and before long there is a gentle fire going, John and Wayne cooking a fish over the top, John smiling at the thing proudly._

" _Told ya you'd be a good fisherman." Wayne says bringing a hand to young John's shoulders._

" _Yeah, it was fun, we should do it again soon, bring mum and Harry along."_

" _Not sure they would appreciate it like you do, but sure, why not?"_

" _Cool." young John says with a nod and for awhile there is just silence. Wayne eventually reaching into a cooler that John hadn't noticed until now and the man pulls out a beer._

" _You drink beer?" Young John asks, scrunching up his nose._

" _Sure do, why? You want one?" Wayne asks casually, though the older John can see through the man's guise now._

" _Really? My mum says beer is bad for you, makes you feel funny and do stupid things you wouldn't normally do."_

" _You're mum is right, but what she didn't tell you, is sometimes, when you around people you trust, people who are your friends and can take care of you, it's alright...can even be fun." Wayne says and he hands a beer over to John, the boy looking at it before he slowly takes it and pops the top._

 _The boy takes a swig, pulling the can away as he makes a face, "That's disgusting...and I don't feel any different." young John says looking to Wayne._

 _The man chuckles before he takes a swig of his own and says, "You have to take more than just a sip, judging by your size...one can...maybe two and you will feel it pretty quick."_

 _Young John debates, older John whispers, "Don't, please don't-"_

 _Young John smiles and raises the can to his lips, planning to only take another sip but is then forced to continue to drink when Wayne brings a finger to the bottom, "That's it, pack it away, all the way down, that's a good lad."_

 _Young John drains the can and then gives a loud belch, "Sorry." he giggles and Wayne chuckles, "Whoa, my heads a little dizzy."_

" _Ah, see, only took a can. Feeling good?" and Young John nods happily._

 _Wayne smiles at hims softly before asking, "Want another?"_

" _Stop! Don't do this, don't take advantage of hi- of me...don't take advantage of me!" John yells but the two ignore him, simply cannot hear him and they clink their beers together before they both take another big gulp._

 _The scene changes, John shaking his head at the dizzy spell that hits him and he stumbles to his knees, looking up when he hears laughing._

 _Young John is wobbling around, laughing and pointing at things, "And that! That's a tree! A BIG OL' TREE!" he raises his hands into the air and spins around, bending over awkwardly as he laughs and Wayne is staring at him with the most genuine smile, John can see the affection in the man's eyes and he wants to vomit._

" _Whoa, so dizzy." Young John says and Wayne shifts from the log onto the ground, folding his legs before him as he pats his lap._

" _Come over and sit down, Johnny boy, you need to take a minute or you are going to get sick."_

" _Sick? I can get sick?"_

" _Oh yeah, real sick, throw up and all. Just come and have a sit, I will keep you from doing anything stupid."_

 _Young John smiles and walks over, "Okay." he sits across Wayne's lap, the man bending his legs up to essentially trap the boy there, one arm cradling his back while his other holds young John's outermost thigh._

" _You have a fun night, Johnny Boy? Like spending time with me?"_

" _Uh huh, yeah, it was real fun! Can we do it again? Just us, no girls." the young John says._

" _Yeah? I thought you wanted to bring your mum and sister with us next time."_

" _Naw, this can be just for us, us guys, a guys night. Fishing, drinking, having fires and dancing, we dance good don't we?"_

" _We do, dance real well."_

" _It was so much fun." Young John says and he lays his head on the man's shoulder, Wayne closing his eyes and his breaths suddenly coming in pants as his hand slowly moves up the boys thigh._

" _Wayne?" Young John asks and the man looks at him in a way not meant for children but meant more for a lover. Old John wretches onto the ground, his stomach twisting harder and his mind races._

" _Yeah, Johnny boy?"_

" _I like you. You're cool."_

" _I like you too John. I promise I will always be around, promise to always take care of you." and John reels up from the ground, fingers digging into dirt as he stares in shock and disgust._

" _Promise?"_

" _Yeah. I promise." and the boy yawns and Wayne gently leans down and gives a soft kiss to the boys neck, young John moaning softly, not nearly coherent enough to know what is going on._

" _Hey, Johnny boy, wanna hear a song?" Wayne asks and John watches as the man's hand creeps up the boy's thigh._

" _Mmm hmm." young John murmurs sleepily._

" _Alright. It's just for you, your special song, Gently take the ships to shore-"_

 _John doesn't want to see anymore, doesn't want to know how far Wayne takes things. He had remembered that Wayne had taken him fishing once, remembered he had given John his first beer, but he doesn't remember this!_

 _Sitting on the man's lap, smashed, being groped and kissed as Wayne sang to him, he only remembers the fishing, drinking a single beer and then…._

 _ **Black out**_

" _You bastard….you basterd!" John shrieks and he looks away because he realizes what is about to happen, what the man is going to do. He doesn't need to know anymore, doesn't want this vision of horror to be replaying in his mind for the rest of his life._

" _Wayne-" and John spins around, sees that Wayne's hand has stopped cold, his eyes locked onto John's sleepy face, waiting with baited breath for the boy to say something, anything about what he is doing._

" _That feels funny." young John says groggily._

" _Do you want me to stop?" Wayne asks, his entire body ridgid, waiting for young John to answer, though older John seriously doubts the man will._

" _I guess not, isn't it bad?" young John asks, shaking his head and trying to open his eyes but they keep drooping and he groans sickly._

 _Wayne visibly relaxes, his face taking on some shade of relief and longing, "Not if you enjoy it, does it feel good?" and John sees Wayne's hand start moving again slowly and young John buries his head in the man's neck, "A little."_

" _Well then, I guess it's alright. Just relax, relax and enjoy it, I promise to take care of you, Johnny boy."_

" _Okay." young John murmurs._

 _John surges up from the ground, running at the two with a desperate look and an outstretched hand but the scene suddenly changes and he is dropped to the ground in the backyard of his childhood home._

 _At first he doesn't see anything or anyone, just an empty yard and the backdoor into the house but then suddenly young John bursts through the back door, a young Harry on his heels._

" _John, John whats wrong? Do I need to get mummy?" the little girl asks, still not having hit her growth spurt she is a tiny thing with blonde hair and great big blue eyes._

" _No! You can't tell mum, you can't tell anyone!"_

" _Can't tell them what?" Harry asks in confusion._

" _Something happened, something but I don't...I can't remember...and it wasn't….it wasn't okay….it was….scary and...weird and strange and-"_

" _Don't you like strange and weird?" the little girl asked and young John looked at her wildly, "What? No! Not like that! I just….I can't remember….we were fishing and then….I had a beer….did I drink two maybe?"_

" _You drank, beer? I'm telling mummy!" and Harry turned to run inside but young John grabs her and stops her._

" _No! Harry, no, you can't tell anyone until I remember what happened!"_

" _Why don't you remember? Wasn't it fun? Did you enjoy it? I always remember things I enjoy!" and Harry smiles soundly at her proclamation._

" _Did I….enjoy-" but young John is stopped by the back door opening again and Harry and John turn to see Wayne walking out, "Hey Johnny boy, how you doing? And look at the pretty princess." Harry goes to run to Wayne but young John's eyes darken and he holds onto his sisters hand, the girl looking at him in confusion._

" _You okay, Johnny boy? You look a little pale, feeling alright?" Wayne asks with a smile as he approaches but John moves back, pressing Harry behind him._

 _Wayne suddenly stops, swallowing as his wide eyes stare at the boy in front of him, "John?" he asks softly, "What's this about?"_

" _You know what it's about, Wayne."_

" _Easy, no need to sound so angry. Why don't we sit down and have a nice little talk about what's bothering you, bet I can help clear it up."_

" _Bet you can't." Young John says firmly and older John clenches his fists, "Yes, that's it, John, turn him out."_

 _Wayne studies him a moment before he tries again, his voice softer, his eyes gentle, "How bout we go fishing, have us some private time and you can tell me what's bothering you. I promise I can explain any questions you have, no need to be ashamed."_

" _I don't have any questions, I don't remember anything, I just know something happened, something weird and wrong and….strange!"_

 _Wayne relaxes at that bit of knowledge, older John seeing the mistake he made in showing his hand on what he remembered. He could have kept the man under his thumb much longer if he had been smarter about it._

 _Wayne takes a step closer and then drops to his knees before he holds out a hand, "John, come here, I can make it all better. We should go inside and talk about it, let Harry go, yeah, Harry how about you go play in your room for awhile, the boys need to talk."_

 _John eyes the man warily but after a moment lets go of Harry and the girl rushes away, beelining for her room._

" _John, come here, come to me, I promise I won't hurt you, I just want to talk, help you sort out your feelings, I can help you understand what you are going through, why you feel so conflicted."_

 _Young John takes a step towards him, Wayne's eyes lighting up a moment before John stops, "Something happened, I don't remember what but when I do...I'm going to tell mum."_

 _Wayne only smiles, "Sure, that's fine. We can tell her together, promise, you and me will sit down with your mum and tell her the whole story...just as soon as you remember."_

 _Young John nods and then slowly, tentatively, walks the rest of the way to Wayne who wraps and arm around him and pulls him to his chest, "I'm sorry your scared, that I made you angry. I thought you wanted- it doesn't matter, we can try again another time...for now...let's go have lunch."_

 _Wayne stands and goes to take young John's hand but the boy jerks away from him and storms inside, leaving Wayne out in the yard to stare._

 _Older John watches, wants to know what happens next but he realizes this is no longer a memory, young John went inside, this image of a frozen Wayne is nothing but his mind making something up that it didn't see._

" _You ruined everything that day." comes Wayne's voice, though the man hasn't turned around to acknowledge him._

" _If you had just been more reasonable, if you had been willing to let me explain what was going on...why you felt so uncomfortable….we could have worked through your-"_

" _You molested me." John said, cutting the man off._

" _And you enjoyed it." Wayne counters._

" _I was blackout drunk, I don't remember any of it! You should have left well enough alone when I reacted the way I did. It was wrong and disgusting and-"_

" _Funny thing about being drunk, people say it lowers your inhibitions, lets you act more easily on things you want."_

" _Yeah, sure, but it also allows you to become pray to what others want, and I didn't want you Wayne, not in the way you wanted me, I wanted a father!" John shrieks out the word father as if it was a bitter thing on his tongue._

" _I was a good father, tried real hard to make Harry happy...before the abuse started, I was good to her and your mum, but….truth be told...I made a better lover."_

 _John growls and charges, grabbing the man by the back of the shirt and swinging him around, only to be greeted by the bashed in face of Wayne's corpse, John jerking back in shock and yelling._

John jerks away, sweat on his brow but his body still in bed, his mind not disoriented in anyway, infact, it is highly focused and he looks at the clock.

A neon five a.m. greets him and he looks over to see Sherlock resting peacefully.

"Sherlock! Sherlock wake up!" John orders in a hushed voice and the man in question jerks up to look at him, "John? John, what is it-"

"That's why it all started, that's how...he drugged me! I didn't fight him the first time….I didn't resist at all! He thought I was….just...denying myself...denying him out of shame...he thought I wanted it." John said without giving much else and Sherlock eyes John from behind confused and exhausted slits before saying, "Wha?" a half formed question and John realizes he has never actually seen Sherlock not fully awake, accept once when he had been drugged by Adler.

For the first time he gets to see a groggy confusion on the man's face, a complete loss of what the man is talking about and John stares, "My god, your adorable when your brain doesn't work."

"My brain….always...works...just running at….a normal….rate at the moment."

"You never do anything halfway, do you? Either your brain is super inhumane fast or slower than dirt."

"Not slow, just starting up, you were saying?"

"Hmm?" John asks.

"You were saying about the thing, the thingy thing- being drugged!"

John thinks about it a moment and then shakes his head, "The first time Wayne...ya know...touched me….he had given me alcohol. I remember it now, he had taken me fishing and given me a few beers and got me plastered."

"You remembered all this?" Sherlock asked as he gazed up at his friend from under his copious amounts of wild hair.

"I did, just now, I had a dream, I remember...after I was smashed he….he did things to me and I remember vaguely asking him what he was doing, but it's all a blur, I blacked out. So, I guess…. I didn't fight him….I let him…"

John slowly swings his legs out of bed and lets out a whine as he pulls on his pants, not bothering with a shirt as he looks to his companion and finally sees the alert sharp eyes he is so used to, "I let him-" John starts as a feeling of dread and disgust swells in him.

"John, you were a child." Sherlock says softly.

John thinks about that, knows Sherlock is right, but a part of him doesn't see that as a good enough excuse. It still seems wrong to him that he had been such an idiot, so trusting and naive and….abused.

Shaking his head, John opens the door and walks out, hearing Sherlock get up from the bed and swear, though the tone is that of worry and not annoyance.

 _You're a good man, Sherlock, too good, if anyone knew you like I did….you would be the most sought after man in all London…_

"John, wait, please don't do this to yourself. You have been doing so well-" Sherlock says as he enters into the sitting room to find John pacing.

"Well? No, Sherlock, I don't think well is what I would call this. I'm jumpy, anxiety ridden, either spitting fire from anger or sobbing my head off from trauma. I don't have time to be this version of well! I need to deal with this head on, I need to...I need to-"

"You have been. Surely you can see that, can't you?"

"No, no I don't. I see weakness, I see a coward, I see...a man who is vulnerable and putting too much on his flatmate, on his friend... you don't need this...this inconsistency, this insanity, this….pain...my pain."

"I want it." Sherlock says quickly, stepping forward as he places a hand on the back of John's chair, "I want it and accept it readily. You've been doing very well considering everything you have been through. Every set back you continue to fight through and move forward, you haven't given up, haven't let the anger win. You have been in good humour, have been gentle and soft and-"

"I don't want to be soft! I want to be strong! I want to be better! The stupid….foolish child I was, he has a lot to answer for! Taking a beer...drinking it….letting his guard down...not watching his surroundings...not watching his back….weak, silly, stupid, trusting, naive thing he was-"

"You were." Sherlock amends.

"What?" John snaps as he turns to look at the taller man with annoyance.

"The weak, silly, stupid, trusting, naive thing _you_ were. That's why it's eating at you, isn't it. Because the John Watson of today, would never have been as careless and stupid as to trust so willingly...so blindly."

"No." John says with assurance, with a form of pride that Sherlock cannot understand. Still he pushes forward, "But the John of back then...was only a child, had no concept of traumas or dangers. The John of back then _was_ innocent, naive and too trusting because he didn't know any better. He wasn't a soldier….wasn't trained to look for the dangers of the world….he was a thirteen year old boy who was abused and hurt, didn't know what to do, how to react other than to run."

"I don't run anymore!" John says, emphasising each word, spit flinging from his teeth as he clenches them and squeezes his fists at his side.

Sherlock smirks, "I know, that is what makes you so...unique. No matter the trauma, no matter the danger...you never run...you always face it head on...quite the bravery and resolve for someone who thinks himself a weak coward."

John stares at him a moment and then shakes his head, letting out an irritated sigh before he brings a thumb and forefinger to his eye.

"That's why Wayne thought I liked him, thought that he needed to use Harry as a means to get me to comply. He truly believed I wanted to be...with him….because...because-"

Sherlock moves closer and places a hand on the man's shoulder, "Because why?" Sherlock asks gently.

"Because, I said I liked it. He fed me three beers, that's all it took...that's how small I was for my age, Sherlock. I was completely lit and at some point I blacked out. I remember...he was singing to me...touching me...and I asked him why he was touching me like that and he….he asked me if I liked it...I said yes, Sherlock….and the worst part is I can't remember if it is the lie...or the truth. I remember everything that happened after that day, because I never let my guard down again and Wayne's attempts to bring me closer would eventually escalate into the hell hole that Harry and I grew up in. But, I can't remember if I...told him the truth or lied."

"So?" Sherlock asks softly and John looks up at him in shock, his mouth hanging open, "John, it doesn't matter. Whether you enjoyed it or not, you were thirteen and he was an adult. He boozed you up, John, you blacked out, at that point even if you enjoyed it….even if you said you enjoyed it...your judgment was impaired and any decisions you did or did not make in that moment in regards to what you truly wanted….John, Wayne took your ability to say yes or no away...you were impaired...do not beat yourself up over trusting someone who you had faith in in the first place. Wayne wasn't supposed to be a predator, he was supposed to be your father...you got dealt a bad hand, it was a crap shoot….you have to try and let it go."

John nods, knowing Sherlock is right and he says softly, "I keep having these dreams, keep seeing different things that I had forgotten over the years. Things that I know I knew but just chose not to think about. It's like my mind wants to refresh it all, reexamine every little thing and try to dissect it. I keep thinking I am going to remember something important, but then I realize that even if I did...he is dead….I can't ask him questions….I can't sort this out...not that I want to...but the jumble of things in my head….the memories that are trying to be restored and reexamined...dissected...Sherlock there are things I am starting to recall that I don't want to. Like the fact...like the fact he wasn't...he wasn't…"

"Wasn't what?"

"He was never brutal to me, never said the things I dream about him saying...he was always so calm about it...even when he drank...he wasn't violent with me… I mean...I remember two sides to him….I don't know which is real and I can't ask him...even if I could I couldn't believe him…"

"What about Harry?"

"Harry?"

"Mmm, she said she used to sit outside the door….wait for Wayne to be done so she could help clean you up. She might remember things more clearly given she wasn't the one…"

"Yeah. You're right. I need to talk to Harry….I need to get this sorted out or I am never going to be able to get over this."

Sherlock nods, pulling the man to his chest and hugging him, "Alright, today, we go see Harry."

 **A/N: Alright there is another chapter…...really need to find an ending…..it just doesn't feel right…..not right now anyway…...read and review!**


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